Lions
by DenseHumboldt
Summary: When Lestrade inadvertently involves the woman he is infatuated with in a deadly cat and mouse game he must work against Sherlock Holmes to save her.
1. Chapter 1

The ground was slick and reflected the harsh glow of halogen from the police lamps. A small crowd was gathered midway down the alley, blue light glancing off inexpensive suits and old model smart phones. A woman is dead. Another crouches over her, moving around the body, absorbed by it. Her long wavy hair is swept up out of her face, small tendrils escaping down her neck. The latex gloves lending an alien quality to her hands as she carefully touches the woman on the ground.

A man in a long dark coat stalks towards the crowd, his fervor is evident in the clipped tempo of his shoes on the cobbles. His companion tries to keep up, his gait shorter and awkward. The man stops just outside the circle, his eyes focused only on the women.

"It fits with the others so far; right age range, right look. He's got a thing for brunettes whoever he is. Bus boy found her, called it in." Lestrade starts in immediately; his eyes glance down awkwardly at the woman inspecting the body

She doesn't look up, her focus unmoving from the body. She leans forward and inhales, running her tongue over her lips. Tasting.

"Cigarettes, Japanese. Most likely Mild Sevens, given the availability." The woman's voice is direct and softly lilting. Her alien blue hands lifting the body's hands close to her face, inhaling again. Carefully placing the hand on the ground again, she brings her face close to the body's hair, breathing softly.

"She doesn't smoke, neither does her fiancée. The killer might have left the butts on the ground. If that helps."

Lestrade nods appreciatively turning to a sergeant standing on the sidelines. "You heard her. See if you can find any-"

"I am sorry, what's going on? Who is she?" John Watson steps out from behind Sherlock.

"She could smell the cigarettes, but not on the hands or hair. If she were the smoker her hands would have stains. The fiancée; her hair would smell of it. Clever" Sherlock Holmes' pale eyes never leave the woman's face. She looks up at him, her eyes are hazel, and they search him for a moment. She smiles in response, standing slowly.

Her body is lithe and athletic, used to moving with intention.

"You two keep saying 'fiancée'. How do you know there is a fiancée?" Lestrade interjects. He wants to disrupt their intense gaze, block the woman from Sherlock's assessing looks. He also knows this would be futile.

The woman has begun circling towards the body's feet while Sherlock is circling to her head.

"Small indent on the skin of her ring finger on the left hand. She normally has a ring." Sherlock is focused on the body now.

Lestrade is still confused "How do we know it was an engagement ring? Could be any old ring, didn't fit her outfit-"

The woman has crouched again looking at the bare feet of the body.

"Lighter skin under the band, no discolouration hence the metal is precious. He had to work it off her finger. Suggests it was properly fit by a jeweler." She smiles at Sherlock as he rattles off the details.

Lestrade nods, accepting their reasoning.

"We're looking for a fiancée, somebody is looking for this woman. Make sure we find him first." He announces walking towards a knot of officers.

"Where in God's name did you find a female Sherlock?" John whispers, catching up with him.

"John" Sherlock calls, standing up and walking away from the body. "Take a look, I want a Doctor's opinion-' he glances at the woman 'or should I say a medical doctor's opinion." Sherlock walks towards the bins lining the alley, he barely pauses as he passes Lestrade and John. "He drugs them."

Lestrade leans in to John whispering back, there is a cheeky look in his eye. He trusts John to have noticed the woman is stunning. "A gala if you can believe it, I tried to pick her up and she told me all about my own divorce"

"He was very charming, I was tempted."

The woman barely made noise on the cobbles as she approached the men, catching the tail end of their whispering. Her accent is more prominent when she is speaking to Lestrade. Her smile is slow and knowing and she stands too close to him. He instinctively leans into her, protective of her attention. "Really, Gregory I am useless without insects. I don't know why you wanted me"

"I don't know about that, Doctor" Lestrade's voice is low, his smile in his eyes. "I have found you quite enlightening."

John stands awkwardly between them.

"John Watson" He offers his hand to the woman. She turns her smile on him now, it is genuine, but her lips have lost the sultry quirk.

"Serene" Her voice catches on the 'r', her tongue sliding gently into the 'n'. Her eyes sweep over John.

"Please forgive my flirting, I can't help myself." Her eyes flick quickly to Lestrade, who becomes sheepishly engrossed in his phone.

"No, no, please" John lifts his eyebrows in appreciation of Lestrade's conquest.

"It is a fool's errand." Serene touches his arm briefly winking before following Lestrade, "he is going to strike again tonight."

Lestrade pulls his phone away from his ear. "How can you be sure?"

Serene looks back towards the entrance to the club, Sherlock Holmes is walking back, he is energetic under his cool demeanor. Serene's eyes are also alight with the puzzle. "She didn't make it far enough, he wants a chase."

Sherlock had come to a stop, staring again at Serene.

"French. Interesting. Really, Lestrade I don't know why you bother. She's clever, but she isn't what I need." He turns his eyes away from Serene at last, dismissing her. He walks back towards the body. "I am surprised you are only calling me in now. You would think one would be too many, but five?"

"Six if we don't hurry. And Quebecois." Serene counters his mistake with a satisfied grin. She and Lestrade follow him.

"But you studied in Paris" Sherlock's eyes move from Lestrade to Serene and back again.

"Alright you two, explain. What makes you think he is going to kill again tonight?"

"Her feet." Sherlock sounds as if he is revealing the obvious.

Lestrade rubs his chin in his hand, frustration pouring out of him. "Why do I bother? Alright what do we do?"

"Do you know anything about lions, Greg?"

Serene leans in coyly, her hands smoothing Lestrade's lapels.

"Lions?" The Detective's voice is incredulous; this night has gotten away from him.

Serene smiles as she reaches up to Lestrade's collar pulling it open. "This man seems to like them."

The men stand silently as Serene undresses Lestrade, his eyes are fixed on her, still and uncertain. John is uncomfortable staring at his feet, but Sherlock is smiling the unnatural gleam of the game in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, what?" Lestrade stumbles out as Serene begins to walk towards the mouth of the alley, her hips swaying, she pulls her hair out of its hasty bun, running her fingers through it. In the dark night, her slim build and long brown hair it as if the dead woman has risen and is walking out to the light of the street.

"Brilliant" Sherlock pronounces walking passed the two stunned men. "Don't you see? She's the bait. We go where he goes next, make sure he sees her"

Lestrade takes after them, John Watson bringing up the rear. "How do we know where he is going to go next?"

"He likes lions. Think where his victims were found; The Red Lion, the White Lion, the Blue Lion, the Three Johns on White Lion Street, Cross Keys was on Black Lion Lane."

"This is London, Sherlock, every pub is Lion-mad. It's a coincidence!" Lestrade shouts after Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn't even turn around to counter Lestrade's frustration. "The universe is rarely so lazy."

Serene is at the mouth of the alley; she is flagging down a taxi. Sherlock catches up with her.

He watches her appraisingly; the street is empty at the moment. Her eyes are wide set, almond shaped. Her mouth could be described as generous. Her unremarkable features are set aflame by the intelligence she exudes from every pore.

They are silent a moment, but soon Serene sees a light in the distance; she recognizes its shape, a taxi. She begins waving it down. The cab alters course towards them and Serene looks at Sherlock.

"Send Dr. Watson home to his wife. We'll be fine tonight, without him."

"John wants to be here."

"He is clearly exhausted."

Sherlock looks down the alley as the taxi pulls up. Lestrade is delegating before he leaves, John leans on his hip, unbalanced.

Serene opens the back door, waving to Lestrade. "You'll need to find your own Mr. Holmes. Don't want to give up the game before we've begun."

Lestrade finally arrives at the taxi, shifting his body into the back, self-conscious of the beautiful woman waiting for him. "You coming, Holmes?"

"I'll follow"

The cab door swings closed and they drive off into the night. Sherlock Holmes stands in the street, steam from the sewers fuming up around his coat. He stands still but he vibrates with anticipation. John walks up to him, hesitant. He has never seen anything like tonight, Sherlock on equal footing with someone.

"So, you're desperate to say it. How did you know from her feet?"

Sherlock turns sharply looking at John, his eyes narrowed. He wants to say, but can't tell if John is making fun of him or not. He takes a deep breathe before launching into his measured speech, unable to leave a question unanswered.

"I found her shoes, she is 10 meters from the door, and her shoes were half that distance. If she'd run for it her feet would have been cut and dirty, but they weren't. He caught her right away, she struggled, but he lifted her. He got her out of the light, behind the bins before beginning to strangling her. Or at least that was his intention. She hit her head as he got her to the ground; she died faster than he wanted. No chase, no game"

Sherlock lifts his hand as more lights approach a black cab pulls up. He opens the door looking expectantly at John who slides in first. He raises his eyebrows at Sherlock's manners. John leans forward looking up at Sherlock.

"Coming?"

"Not with you. Go home to Mary."

"What? You're sending me home?"

"You're no good to me tired."

Sherlock slams the door, thumping the top of the cab with his other hand as it takes off into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

"You look fine" Serene whispered across the back seat.

"I look like a policeman"

"No, you think like a police man. Can you try to look like a man in love?" Her smile is sensual, persuasive. She leans in to him, looking into his eyes, pleading.

"Serene, what are we playing at? You're an entomologist, I shouldn't have asked you. What was I thinking? Nearly got fired for the Sherlock thing-"

Serene rests her hand on his knee. He stops talking, his eyes focusing on her slim brown hand. "You think too much"

"That's rich, coming from you."

The cab had pulled up in front of a brick building, its imposing black windows throb with unseen dancers and a crowd was gathered out front. Women huddled against each other waiting their turn. Serene squeezes his knee affectionately before popping out of the cab.

From the doorway of the building across the street Sherlock Holmes watches the club. He is breathing heavily, leaning into the darkness. He wills his body to stop pulling in air so harshly, and thinks briefly of the fine cotton of his shirt soaking up the sweat beading up along his body beneath his heavy coat. The obvious choice after sending John in the taxi had been to run to the next location, rather than hope for a cab winding its way through the increased police presence. Just as he begins to doubt that he has chosen the same club, a black taxi pulls up.

He doesn't allow himself to think too hard about his assumption that she would pick the same club. He often makes these assumptions only to have everyday people fail time and time again to use their minds. It is not his assumption, but the missing urge to over explain to her that itches beneath his skin. It is rare that he can be simple with people, state the facts without revealing the trick. He sees the scientist emerge from the cab.

Her body language has changed, she moves with the same grace, but it is hidden behind a swaying and laughing pantomime. She is a competent actress; if he had not observed her so carefully he may have been taken in by it. Lestrade is wooden next to her, a self-conscious block. If this plan went wrong it would be his fault. He questioned her choice to use Lestrade instead of himself.

They join the queue and he watches Lestrade begin to move to the front of the small group. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket.

"No, no you fool" Sherlock curses under his breath, but the woman has seen too. She catches Lestrade's lapel in one hand, effectively blocking access to his badge. She pulls him close; she fiddles with his collar her lips moving soundlessly. He supposes she is warning him to have patience, wait in the queue without revealing his badge. He smiles at her smoothness. At that moment she glances over her shoulder, looking so directly at him, he feels like she must see him. He argues this is nonsense as the masonry and darkness conceal his dark coat entirely, but her eyes in that moment burned into him.

She had said her name, he had pretended not to hear it, but he had. 'Serene'. Her muddied french accent made it sound so different from The Woman's name, but every time he heard it his brain sorted it out again. Ser-ene, I-rene, Se-rene. The Woman had looked at him too intensely too, and offered a dangerous temptation.

He wasn't sure what this woman was offering him. Or what was being offered to him by Lestrade. He couldn't find the link between the entomologist and the crime. What qualified her to be at the crime scene, why Lestrade had invited both of them. He assumed it was sentiment about John and the baby. Yet he watched them interact together, there was a familiarity between them. He wondered how he had never even had a hint of her before this moment. He had been back almost a year; this woman must predate his return. And yet she had remained so hidden from him. Was it the baby that made Lestrade offer up his prize to Sherlock now? Could sentiment so easily displace attraction? He felt blind to the answer.

The queue began shuffling forward and Lestrade and the woman disappeared into the club. He emerged from the shadows to follow them inside the Lionhead.


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade was not the type of man to play games; all of him wanted to muscle his way into the club, with Sherlock Holmes by the collar, and have point out the suspect. Then out come the cuffs and he goes home to his one bedroom flat and a whiskey. No part of him doubted the man was in the club, but the policeman in him hated himself for it. It all seemed like a ruddy magic trick, the way Sherlock and Serene had barely spoken but had known everything instantly. Now he was standing outside this naff club hoping the bouncer let him in to do his job. He had tried to use his badge, but Serene had stopped him.

From the moment they had gotten out of the taxi she had been different, giggling and smiling. The Serene he knew laughed and smiled, but it was always lower and softer. It cut right down to a man's belly the way she laughed. He coveted it.

He had taken solace in her when Sherlock had been away, although he had thought he was dead at the time. She seemed created to soothe all his aches; his wife's continued betrayal, the loss of a friend, his professional disgrace. He hadn't dared bring her on as consultant on any random case, but Scotland Yard had set precedence using her to consult on cases of extreme decomposition.

Even if he couldn't bring her on, he could talk to her about the cases. She asked questions that surprised him, her mind worked in a fever. Late at night, drinking whiskey out of a styrofoam cup in his office, her legs tucked under her in the old chair,while he talked and stared at photographs. His wife had never had the patience to listen to him this way, and to be fair he never let her either. They'd been so young when they'd gotten married, Katherine always seemed so delicate to him. Serene felt so strong and vibrant. His thoughts of Katherine had always been so pink and dewy, his blushing bride. Well thirty years later they were different people; the multiple affairs proved Katherine wanted to be thought of differently. The way he felt about Serene, he supposed, was what he couldn't give his own ex-wife. That gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach, wasn't just sexual, he wanted to possess her. Her thoughts, her feelings and laughter seemed just as important as what her body offered. Or could offer, he supposed, if the timing had been right.

The Gala fundraiser had been around Christmas, his first Christmas without his wife and without Sherlock. He supposed a better detective could have told you what she had been wearing and how her hair had been. All of it seemed a blur now; he had been in a rented tuxedo and felt like an idiot. Donovan and Anderson had been there and others on the force, but a disgraced boss was hardly going to be the belle of the ball. He had been drinking the poorly chilled champagne and considering leaving when she had drifted across his eye line. Speaking with a balding man, she was laughing and he had felt it down to his core. He remembered pausing the flute half way to his lips, his mouth hanging open like a git. He thought the champagne must have been getting to him, that the woman laughing was just some random secretary for a higher up, invited out of politeness. Then he saw her, she was glancing back over her shoulder, every one of her glorious features on display.

Her dark hair, her eyes, he remembered her back was bare, and her mouth seemed to be all he could think of. He tried to be above his baser nature, undo a little of the damage his more sexist colleagues wreaked across the department, but he found himself looking into hungry eyes. All he could see was her sitting on his bed, the sheets a jumble, her hair wild and tumbling down her back, the lipstick gone and her lips bitten and bare. To his unending guilt it was his and Katherine's bed, the nicer sheets and the mattress that was big enough for two and didn't hurt his back. His mouth was still hanging open, he could feel it but he couldn't do anything about it.

Now a year and a half later and she was tucked up against him. Pretending to be his fiancee in order to catch a killer. He should have been able to crack this on his own, but he had missed her. She had been away; she was away a lot. Lecturing one month, research the next. Sometimes she was just gone and he didn't know where. Those times were the hardest; being without her was bearable when he could picture her standing in front of a lecture hall or bending over a microscope. When she was just gone he felt himself consumed by jealousy and concern. Sometimes in fits of despondency he would picture her on a beach somewhere or in a mysterious hotel room always with a stranger. An uncomplicated, available stranger who would whisper all the things he longed to tell her himself, kiss her and touch her the way he desperately wanted to.

When he had approached her that first night, she had laughed and flirted. He felt on top of the world for the first time in a long time. He had run his hand down the vee of her back. Or had it been just her arm. What he had wanted and what he had done had been jumbled around in his mind so many times he could no longer clearly separate them in his memory, but she had stepped away. Her smile faltered and she ran his hand down the lapel of his stupid rented jacket. She had looked at him sympathetically and whispered she 'didn't want to be in another woman's bed'. He had felt shocked like she had read his mind. They had been friends after, or something. He felt like she was waiting for something, he hadn't been dismissed or written off, but she wanted to see something in his eyes, something that wasn't there yet.

He was brought back to the moment by feeling Serene stiffen against him; her hand had slipped affectionately beneath his jacket. He felt it twitch and realized the bouncer was signaling them forwards. He didn't question it, like Lazarus he walked forward.

As soon as they were in the club he felt even more under qualified to play his part. Every one around him was younger than him by at least twenty years, if not thirty. Even Serene he reminded himself was only thirty, although he could never picture her somewhere so pedestrian. She seemed perfectly comfortable; she pulled him deeper into the club. She led him to a table and gave his arm a quick, significant squeeze before disappearing into the crowd. Lestrade scanned the club looking for anything really; Sherlock, Serene, or a man wearing a giant 'killer' placard.

Serene returned to him jostled through the crowd, holding two drinks. She barely reached him without getting knocked over; he caught her arm to steady her. Inadvertently pulling her closer. She placed one drink on the table, the other she pressed into his hand.

The contents of the glass was fizzy and translucent, he tilted it experimentally. She leaned into him even closer, pressed up against him. He felt her now in a way he never had before, every curve against him. He tried picturing Sherlock in his place, what he would have done to keep his head.

"Just soda and lime, got to keep our heads." She whispered, then to his unending shock she licked his ear. He nearly dropped his drink as he felt the warm tip of her tongue run along the edge of his ear lobe. He was suddenly sure of two things in the world; one that Serene would live up to all his fantasies and two his mouth was dangerously close to hanging open. He thought of Sherlock again and forced himself to focus. Play along, he thought; act like she is yours. His arm snaked around her waist and trapped her against him. She laughed, a real Serene laugh, the challenge in her eyes. What was he thinking agreeing to this lunacy.

She whispered in his other ear, her hand lightly lifting his arm with the drink. "Drink up, Sherlock is watching mine." She didn't lick his ear this time, but she did stay a fraction of a second longer. It took all his self-control not to look for Sherlock, he would just have to trust she had seen him. He drained the horrible drink in one go, who knew Tom Collins could be worse. Apparently virgin Tom Collins was. Serene took a small sip out of hers before leaving it on the table and dragging Lestrade the few meters to the dance floor.

If he had felt old before, he felt absolutely decrepit now. Dancing had changed; it seemed all a man had to do was hold on while the woman shimmied against him. It lacked something of the seduction of dancing with a person, but as Serene moved against him he couldn't fault it. Hold her; his police brain screamed at him, make her a target. He stalled, he didn't want her to be a target, he didn't want this insane person to even set eyes on her.

Serene it seemed was taking matters into her own hands. She turned around, leaning her back against his hesitant body and wrapping her arms around his neck. It was a brilliant move even if it was one he was unprepared for. It forced his head to be in the crook of her neck and his hands to steady her hips to keep them both upright and unjostled by the crowd. It also stretched Serene out, displaying to the room at large her beautiful, expressive face, her breasts, her flat stomach and her lithe legs.

They were like this for a moment, pressed against each other. Lestrade allowed himself to breathe her in as she rocked against him. Serene smelled like incense, the scent clung to her hair and the sweat on her skin. He could smell her perfume beneath it though, verbena and sandalwood. He wondered then where she had been, before he had called. How had she thought her night was going to go; Serene's hand slid into his hair, her body elongating slightly, stretching and moving against him. He was thinking too much like Sherlock, he laughed to himself. What kind of red-blooded man was he? Dancing with a beautiful woman, only to try and deduce where she had been. He hated the song that was playing, hated that the first time he got to hold her like this was so public. Worst of all that Sherlock Holmes was somewhere watching him, probably pitying him for being so wrapped up in an uninterested woman. His hands reflexively tightened on her hips, he felt a laugh echo in his chest. Serene's laugh, as she was pressed even more firmly against him, all of him, he realized too late. He relaxed his grip, stepping away from her slightly.

Serene turned in his arms, her arms still around his neck; she leaned against him all over again. Her lips were against his neck, just under his ear and he could think of nothing else. His stomach dropped, he felt like a school boy rather than a middle aged DI the way his hands were sweating. He swallowed, hard.

"Don't worry, a woman likes to feel appreciated." The words were murmured against his ear, her mouth teasingly close to his jawline. He couldn't remember his nerve endings ever being on fire like this.

The song must have changed, they all seemed to run together to him, but Serene whorled herself again, leaning back against him as before.

A man appeared out of the crowd, he was young with ridiculous hair. He seemed to have emerged from a group of similarly young ridiculous people. He reached his hand out and ran the palm of his hand down Serene's side. He tried to take her arm, leaning into the both of them shouting, "You should share, Grandad!"

Lestrade saw red, Serene reacted to the stranger by turning herself towards Lestrade, tucking under his arm against his side. "Naff off, mate!" Lestrade shouted back. All of him wanted to pull out his badge, but that would ruin the whole operation. Serene leaned into him, whispering as if to calm him down, but really she said, "Start a fight, he's noticed". That was all Lestrade needed, before giving into his rage and stepping toe to toe with the idiot. Testosterone pumping the idiot took the bait and swung.

Lestrade shoved back and bouncers materialized out of nowhere grabbing them. Serene had faded into the crowd, hoping this had been enough to peak the killer's interest. She hoped against hope she had been right about everything. She worked back towards her drink; she had left Sherlock watching it. The drink still sat on the table, unchanged but for the second straw. It had not been there before and Serene smiled at Sherlock's ingenious message.

She hoped the killer was following his M.O. and had gone to the side entrance to await his prey. Trusting a drugged woman would want air, beyond the watchful eye of the bouncers. She realized she couldn't be sure, that he hadn't seen Sherlock signal her or that he would go straight to the alley. She weighed her options quickly but only one really remained to her. She drained half her drink and set it on the table. She had less than 15 minutes. She wouldn't pass out, he wanted them to fight, to run, but he also wanted to know he could win. She didn't know what would happen to her. She pocketed a salt shaker and made her way to the side door.

The world was already beginning to turn, shift slightly. The music felt too loud, the club felt too hot. Even if she wasn't after a murderer, she wanted to be outside. And alone. There seemed to be too many people. The side door loomed closer and closer, until she had reached it. She could feel the draft and the metal was cool as she pushed her way out.

She smelled cigarettes immediately. The alley reeked of layers of cigarette smoke, damp butts and garbage. One was fresh though, and familiar. She had tasted it in the miasma around the body earlier. She looked to her left and there he was. A man in the shadows, she hadn't known what she would feel now in this moment, rage, fear, shock and vindication. All she really felt was her stomach plummet and the desire to vomit out whatever drug was coursing through her system right now.

"Hello, Love" The man stepped out of the shadows. He was a horrible fake blond; his eyebrows didn't match with the harsh yellow tones of his hair. His complexion was sickly, but his face when smiling wasn't unpleasant. Except for his eyes. They seemed too focused and too dark, like they were all pupil.

"Hello, I seem to have lost my fiancee."

The man continued to approach, throwing the cigarette into the alley. Despite the cacophony, in her mind, of a million half formed thoughts, Serene tried to remember where it fell. In case it wasn't enough, this now, him stalking her in the Alley.

"Did they pull him out for fighting?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Over you, wasn't it?"

"Yes" Serene was backing away from him now.

"Didn't go with him though, did you?"

"I wanted to finish my drink."

The man made a soft tsking sound. "Should have gone with him. No one to take care of you now."

The world did a barrel roll for Serene. The drug was causing her mind to race, sweat to pour off of her and the world to tilt.

"I can take care of myself"

"Can you now? Not scared some big bad man will find you?"

"No." The man started walking towards her and panic coursed through her again.

"But he has" Like an animal the man started growling at her. Without the drug Serene might have started laughing, but as it was he was unnerving her. She had backed them midway down the alley. Whoever appeared to help her first either Sherlock or Greg they would be able to reach her quickly. There was a movement just over his shoulder. Someone else was in the alley and relief washed over her.

She turned to run and heard the man begin giving chase, the snarling and lip smacking audible over the clack of her heels. She stopped and turned suddenly. The man was horrifying and upon her. She intended to hit him, to use her years of training to subdue him for Greg, but the world spun again when she saw him. He seemed more like an animal than a man, as if transformed, she was so fascinated, she let him pounce. Knocking her to the ground.

It hurt hitting the ground so suddenly, the wind was knocked out of her and her body began gasping for air. She couldn't seem to pull air into her lungs. He was on top of her sweating and reeking of cigarettes. She thought he would kill her there, she wondered far off in the blurry back of her mind why no one had stopped him. She felt him stand up, she couldn't focus enough to stand. She struggled to make her limbs work together now. She felt him grab her ankle. He began to drag her; she felt the dirt cutting into her arms. This second kill had made him frantic and sloppy. She kicked against him, bringing her other leg up and getting him in the sternum with her heel. He stumbled back momentarily, enraged. He fell on her then his hands finding her throat immediately. Where was Sherlock? Where was Greg? How had things gone so wrong, if her mind could focus she knew she had only been in the alley a minute or so. Darks spots began to form in front of her eyes, her hands barely understanding her command to pull his hands from her throat. His face above her was contorted with rage, his eyes still that hollow burning black.

From somewhere behind her there was the scuffle of shoes and she thought she heard a door frantically swing open. Then there was a gunshot, and the man jerked and fell on top of her. His warm blood was all she felt spilling over her as the world faded.


	4. Chapter 4

Next thing she knew she was sitting against a wall, an awkward girl maybe 19 years old was holding out a water bottle to her, she looked frightened.

"The man in the coat said to make you drink this."

The drug was still causing static in her brain; she struggled to reach for it. The girl picked up on her weakness and opened the bottle, holding it closer. Somehow Serene managed to reach a hand into her pocket and removed the pilfered saltshaker.

"Open this, please" she rasped at the girl, who looked confused. She twisted off the top of the shaker.

A shadow loomed over her. Serene felt rather than saw Sherlock Holmes.

"Excellent." He said crouching and shooing away the girl. "Police are on their way with the EMTs, might as well get a head start." He deftly takes the saltshaker in one hand and tips Serene's head with the other.

He pours salt into her slightly open mouth and follows it quickly with the water bottle. He isn't delicate with her, but he manages not to jerk her. She had hardly swallowed the burning concoction before she felt her stomach turn and lurched to the side, vomiting up a small pool of liquid. The relief was minimal as she choked into the pavement, but she felt good knowing whatever hadn't been absorbed was now winding its way down towards Sherlock Holmes' shoes.

There was the thunder and noise of police pulling up to the scene, and she heard the pounding of shoes coming towards her.

"What's happened? Is she okay?" Greg was over her in a second and she suddenly felt self conscious of her bedraggled appearance.

"Just inducing vomiting." Sherlock responded.

"Bloody Hell, Sherlock. EMTs are on their way they can handle this." Greg was crouching next to her. Moving her head so she was looking at him. She wished he would stop. "Are you okay?"

She managed to smile, but holding her head up felt like too much.

"Serene, I can't - I-" Greg was struggling for words.

Lestrade felt sick looking at her, she was covered in blood, her own and the killer's. She was weak and disoriented from whatever had been slipped to her. He couldn't find the words to apologize, all the things he thought and felt seemed to tumble out of him at once in a mess. Serene just smiled and tried to lift her hand to his lapel, in her familiar soothing gesture. It was then he saw the scrapes along her forearms.

"Can I get a bleeding EMT here already!" He shouted at the growing crowd of first responders. From somewhere in the alley an EMT emerged and began lifting Serene to her feet.

Someone called Lestrade's name and he ignored them as he watched her walk towards the ambulance, Sherlock following her. He heard his name again and he had to turn away.

Sherlock watched as the EMT cleaned and bandaged the woman's forearms. Her injuries as far as he could tell were minor. Cuts and bruises, the killer's blood and her drugged state were making things seem worse than they were. She had vomited and seemed to be coming around, her eyes were less dull and she was moving better.

"Out of the way, freak" Donovan's usual greeting came from just behind his right elbow. He stepped to the left, allowing her to pass. "I need her clothes, so I need you to leave."

He nodded in understanding and crossed just to the side of the ambulance, behind the doors. He felt frustrated things had gotten out of hand so quickly. He had been securing Serene's glass and the remaining liquid as evidence, before entering the alley. He had thought Lestrade would have been ready and waiting. Evidently it had taken him precious seconds longer than anticipated to convince the bouncers of the situation and enlist their help securing the club and its clientele.

"Hello, Doc. Bit of a rough night, eh?" There was affection in Donovan's voice; obviously Serene had been able to win over all the Yard's personnel. "I am going to need to collect your clothes as evidence."

He could hear the two women murmuring as they transferred the clothes into bags and Donovan helped Serene into some scrubs. He could see Lestrade looking down at the body; he seemed absorbed in his thoughts. Anderson approached him, and Lestrade began rubbing his temple. A sound reaction to Anderson, but he could see Lestrade pointing angrily to the end of the alley, to the ambulance, in fact. Lestrade wouldn't look though, all of his movements kept his head decidedly turned away from them.

Anderson sauntered up. "I need to process you." Sherlock came around the doors of the ambulance to see Serene swimming in pale blue scrubs. Anderson had her hair in her face and was running a comb through it, moving the blood and dirt to an evidence bag, next under her nails. Anderson looked at Serene a moment too long, she was still drowsy and not looking at him. "I need your underwear."

"For pity's sake, Anderson."

"What? I am being thorough."

Sherlock opens his mouth to interject, but is cut off quickly and effective by Serene's purr. "I'll bring them to Detective Lestrade tomorrow. For tonight I am going home."

She stands unsteadily, pushing away from the ambulance. Donovan steps forward to catch her, but Serene waves her off. "I am fine, Sally. Just fine."

"Really, Doc. Let him take you home. He'll be hell to deal with if you don't."

"I'll take her." Sherlock offers, to everyone's surprise.

Serene's eyes are clearer when she looks at him. Perhaps the adrenaline was enough to push through some of the drug's effects. She smiles at him, but shakes her head.

"I will make it just fine on my own, I am in no position to host."

"You'll find I insist." His last word becomes a hiss, as he gestures toward the road.

Serene shrugs the movement of her shoulders barely visible in the folds of the scrubs. "I suppose if there is no stopping you." Serene glances down the alley again, towards the sheet covered body of the man who attacked her, the man that Detective Inspector Lestrade had shot dead for her.

Greg wasn't a killer; she knew that the death weighed as heavily on him as his vindication. She longed to smooth her hand down his lapel, to flirt and tease him until he felt better. She wanted more than that too. Looking at him now she could feel only the pleasure of being pressed up against him. He was magnetic to her, and thinking of him makes a roiling want build in her. The longer she knows him the muddier those desires are. She wonders why she delays, she is the type to revel in her sexuality. That this man should make her pause is inexplicable to her. She had been punishing herself with this desire for almost two years; perhaps it was time for that dam to break.

All of this passes through her in the space of a glance, an instantaneous hardening of intention. He looks up then and their eyes meet. It as if he has read her every thought, she feels such intensity in their connection. She feels Sherlock move to her side, she breaks eye contact with Greg to sweep her eyes to the man standing next to her. Sherlock nods over her head, she doesn't see Lestrade's response. Instead she walks away, knowing Sherlock is following.


	5. Chapter 5

The cab ride had been silent, Sherlock had stared forward, but his eyes moved slightly side to side. As if he was seeing something she could not. Serene had hoped she would feel satisfied catching the killer. This hadn't been how she foresaw it. All she had predicted crouching over the poor dead woman in the alley had come true. The killer had fallen into their trap so easily. It was unsatisfying; it sat under her skin like an impossible itch. It was wrong. She was wrong and yet she appeared to be right.

The cab stopped outside her address, Serene got out and to her mild surprise Sherlock got out with her. He looked up at the imposing glass building, lit from within like a glowing lantern. She supposed it wasn't what he had expected. They continued wordlessly through security up to her apartment, She felt ridiculous with her swelling, bruised flesh and matted hair. Swimming in scrubs. The staff was too highly paid to be anything but impassively helpful, but she was sure that her appearance with a famous detective was sure to cause a murmur in the break room.

She turned the key in her door and walked into her warmly lit flat. She trusted Sherlock to follow and close the door. After all he had made no attempt to bid her farewell outside her door.

"I will be back. Then you can tell me everything you've 'deduced'" Serene mocked his use of the word a little. He was dramatic. He felt different than how Gregory had described him those long months of his death. Not that Greg had been wrong, just focusing on different things. There was something living and breathing beneath Sherlock Holmes' surface, that she felt few people saw. Perhaps they intentionally looked away. She had found it was easier to put things in terms of stupidity when it came to other people, that somehow it was their intelligence that limited them. Serene had started to feel differently the more she traveled, that maybe it was more about self-preservation. Stepping back from the void, before you drove yourself mad.

That is what it felt like to her sometimes; madness. This desire to have everything lay out before her, to know and feel everything. There was joy in it, but where it led in the end was an unknown. She left Sherlock then, in her flat to tear it apart with his eyes. All she could think of was a shower.

Sherlock waited until he heard the shower start running in the other room, then he came to life. The apartment was huge, high ceilings, balcony. Expensive. This apartment alone cost an unimaginable sum of money; it was full to the brim of even more wealth. Opulence spilling out of every room, but like lighted points on a map Serene's possessions began to stand out to him. She lived here, moved herself into the small spaces between this other person. Why was she here? She was a game this woman, finding the truth under the facade. Lestrade was like John, always getting himself distracted by women. Although he had to give him credit for this one woman, she wasn't boring. She was smart; she saw things. He had been extraneous tonight; he didn't like to feel extraneous. At first he had thought Lestrade was trying to set him up, to offer him another assistant. He was sentimental about John and the baby. Everyone seemed to want to keep John at home, in his domesticity. It was laughable, even Mary understood.

He thought Lestrade was offering this woman to him, but he had been wrong. He had been watching in the alley and inside the club. Lestrade was infatuated; he had brought them both there unintentionally. He looked around the apartment and it became so clear. She was back tonight; she had been gone and now she was back. Lestrade had found out after he had called Sherlock, he had invited her then, because he had missed her. Who was this woman who dropped everything to come to a crime scene, barely home and she leaves to go find a killer in a nightclub. She was fascinating. He heard the shower stop. She would be back again soon, in front of him.

Serene wiped the fog from the mirror, the black tile made her feel like she was glowing. She ran a comb through her hair; it hurt more than it should. It pulled at her bruises, but she wanted to be presentable. The itch hadn't subsided since the cab; it had grown to a hungry clawing inside her. She wanted to satisfy it. She thought about Sherlock waiting for her. Probably to question her and she considered seducing him. She wanted to burn with someone; she wanted to drown the clawing in her with sex and whiskey. His reputation preceded him of course, unavailable and uninterested. Serene felt this was wrong. He offered himself to everyone; they were just too intimidated to see it. She pulled her hair half back from her face, cataloguing her injuries. The handprints were the most offensive, spreading across her neck. She pulled on the fresh clothes she had grabbed from her suitcase; it was still half packed on the bed. That's what she had been doing when Greg called. That seemed so long ago now, but it had really only been hours.

His voice had sounded so warm on the phone, rough and deep. She could hear him smiling. It was nice to know she had been missed. She had left immediately, the fire of the chase spreading through her veins. She loved her work, but it was so satisfying in Greg's world. She dealt in theories, she guessed but could never really know with her research. She liked Greg's black and white world she liked Greg, really.

He had started smoking again he could never really quit. It had clung to his coat and his skin. Maybe that was why she had never let things get too far with him; he couldn't let go. He couldn't let go of his ex wife, either. He was still married in his mind.

Starting a sexual relationship with him meant she would never be free again. He would be a pin holding her to one point, but Sherlock was different. Her mind drifted to him, thinking about tonight. He was tall, and attractive; he would be enjoyable. She wanted to open him up and watch all the gears turn.

She had made up her mind before she had even made it back to the living room. He was standing his hands in a reflective steeple against his lips. She walked passed him into the open kitchen. She opened a cupboard and reached for a glass.

Sherlock was watching her as she reached for a bottle. It is on a high shelf. Expensive so she keeps it out of the way. She lifts onto the balls of her feet to reach it. The muscles in her legs, bum and back are stretching and contracting.

He notices how beautiful her legs are; people think he doesn't notice. He does though. He sees beauty he just feels no urge to possess it. He is drawn to her though she isn't boring. Some people try to not be boring, but they always fail.

She is nearly naked in front of him, cotton shorts and a top. She isn't wearing underwear, the observation whispers against his skin. Women have attempted seduction before, they are always so obvious about it. She is ignoring him. Why is she ignoring him? She is damp, mostly naked and nearly died tonight and she is acting like he is not in the apartment.

She pours a glass from the bottle, it is honey brown and immediately the sting of alcohol is in the air. She puts the cork back in the bottle and pulls a blue enamel jar towards her, meant to hold sugar judging by the seal. She opens it reaching her hand in, not sugar then. She pulls out a small bag of loose tobacco and papers. She smokes, rarely. She has made it a ritual, overly complex to discourage the habit. He watches her hands deftly roll a cigarette.

It's intoxicating; the tobacco, the whiskey and the sandalwood perfume clinging to her damp skin. He wonders if it is intentional: the scents, the intimate action of rolling a cigarette, ignoring him. If this is her method of seduction he is surprised Lestrade has resisted it so long. Unless, unless he had never made it this far. She doesn't take people here she didn't want him here.

He had pushed and she had let him. Why had she let him get farther than any other person? She stretches again to reach the shelf, bumping her bandages trying to slide the bottle back. She hisses. He is behind her within a moment catching hold of the bottle, she lets go dropping down to the flats of her feet. She is between his body and the counter. He is warm; he shed his coat and his jacket while she was in the shower. He looks at the bottle while he slides it back into its place.

"You drugged yourself not two hours ago, maybe scotch isn't the way to go." His voice is deep in his chest. It rumbles against her and she feels warmth traveling from her neck to her toes. Something in her wails for satisfaction, but she refuses to rush.

"Perhaps I should share then." She picks up the cigarette she had carefully rolled and the glass. Slipping out from between him and the counter. She doesn't need to look back to know he is watching her.

"Are you why Lestrade started smoking again? Have you been sharing with him too?"

Serene doesn't even stop walking. She continues to the balcony. She does stop as she slides open the glass. "Find me some matches."

She slips through the glass door, leaving it open. It is cool out. Too cool for what she is wearing. His eyes rove over the apartment quickly. She is asking him to solve a puzzle, and he can't help himself. It's an obvious one, but it makes something lick inside him. This also feels intentional, he was wrong. This was seduction a masterful one. He smiles, matches in hand. This is a game he wants to play 'til the end. He grabs his coat.

When he walks out on the balcony she is facing him, her back to the skyline. The drink is untouched balanced on the railing, the cigarette perched between two of her fingers.

"That took an age."

"I stopped for my coat." He is close to her again; her skin is gooseflesh in the cool breeze. "It's cold."

"I had barely noticed."

He puts the coat around her; she doesn't slip her arms into it. She leaves it open, an invitation to step closer. She brings the cigarette to her lips and Sherlock steps closer. He lights the match, sheltering it against the breeze. She inhales, the tip catching and burning. He shakes the match out as she exhales lavender tendrils of smoke. The smell burns inside him and he takes the cigarette from her. It feels intimate, sharing this with her. The tobacco, the expensive scotch, this view of her body outlined by the city lights are an offering. As he inhales he realizes he has accepted it.

"What kind of entomologist can afford a 30 million dollar flat in the middle of London?" It's a question with an obvious answer; it isn't hers. He wants to distract her though, turn her focus back inwards.

She takes a drink from the scotch he keeps the cigarette. She watches him observe it in his hand, taking in the way it is rolled. He brings it to his lips, she watches him suck the smoke into his mouth. She feels like she is being catalogued, everything about her another clue.

"How long has it been since you've had shag?" She looks at the cigarette in his hand; it's a lame entendre but it pleases her. He laughs surprised.

"It's been awhile, there was a case involving a professional beggar. Mrs. Hudson banished it from the house, said it devalued her wallpaper or some such nonsense. Almost impossible to be a smoker in London these days. This however-' He held up the cigarette in his hand, turning it for her to see. 'An unusual hobby for a woman."

"So says the king of unusual hobbies. I thought you might like the clue." She takes it from him, pressing the scotch into his other hand. She watches him, seeing if he will drink it.

"Yes, you are full of them." Sherlock swirls the scotch in the glass as he lifts it and he takes a sip. He grimaces slightly, "I like this one the least though."

She laughs, and he smiles. He likes her laugh, her real laugh. Not the one he heard at the club, this one is different. Lestrade likes it too; he remembers her laughing at him and the way he stepped closer. Sherlock feels the inclination now, he has accepted the first and second offering, why not the third? He steps closer to her, taking the cigarette back, his hand slides over hers and he feels a frisson of anticipation. This is new territory and it is definitely not boring. While she is looking at him, watching him, he splashes the scotch over the side of the balcony. To her credit she doesn't turn her head.

"I might have wanted that, since you are hogging the cigarette."

"You don't need it, you drugged yourself in an alley, remember?"

"You keep bringing it up, how could I forget? Seemed like the only option."

"I agree, he could have been watching. No, it was Lestrade's screw up-"

"Not yours?"

"I can't be expected to take care of you."

"No, neither can DI Lestrade."

"No, you can take care of yourself can't you?" He looks at her, his eyes searching her. He takes her hand, turning it palm up. The bandages are wrapped tightly he turns her hand. "You unwrapped and rewrapped your bandages once we got here. You hurt your wrists and forearm, this wrapping is different than what the ambulance did-' He runs his finger from the tip of her middle finger across her palm over her pulse point down her forearm. He wonders if she knows the way her tongue caresses her teeth when he touches her. Her fingers twitched from the stimulus. If it hurt when he touched her injuries it only makes the fire behind her eyes burn brighter. '- this is your handiwork. An injured wrist but the wrapping goes up and around your fingers."

"A boxer then. An experienced one at that, it takes time to learn to properly wrap your hands so that begs the question; why drug yourself, stumble out to an alley and not even get a single punch in?" Sherlock flicks the cigarette over the balcony too.

"I wanted that too."

"Is there anything else you want?"

Serene smiles her fingers ghost down his front resting on the edge of his belt. "If I tell you, promise not to throw it off the balcony too?"

He laughs; she is close and touching him and making him laugh. How had the evening ended up here? It seemed so long ago, the evening stretched into days in his mind. This woman had appeared to him and now they were standing close on the balcony ash clinging to their clothes, her verbena and sandalwood scent soaking into the wool of his coat. He would smell her later, he found that appealing. The wind blew her hair into her eyes and she turned her face towards it, sweeping the hair away behind her ear. She looks into the distance. He misses her hand from his belt.

Sherlock didn't think they could be closer, but she closes the distance between them. Her body pressed against him was cold, his jacket was slipping down her, she had one hand caressing his ear, and the other is running a thumb down his jaw. He stops the coat from slipping down and suddenly he is holding her. It all seems so intentional now; from the moment she walked out of the shower, but why?

"You know what I wanted tonight?" She murmurs her lips are millimeters from his jaw. His hands grip reflexively on her shoulders.

"I want you to tell me." He did, he wanted to hear it from her.

"I could have stayed in the club, let Greg find him, but then I wouldn't have got to see him. I wanted to see him change, the animal come out. So rare that we get to see what people are hiding, underneath it all."

Her voice was slow, deeper and it made his stomach tense. This was what he expected, but instead of boring him it enthralled him. To have read her so accurately, it felt like his seduction. Knowing her so thoroughly and not looking away. He hated the way his heart was beating; she must be able to see it ticking away in his neck. Betraying him.

"You could have died."

Serene wasn't sure if it was concern she was hearing in his voice or if he was just stating the obvious. Either way she enjoyed the effect. She had felt watched all night and now on the balcony she was sure of it. She was enjoying herself, being so close to him, watching his pulse jump in his neck. She closes the microscopic distance between them. He tastes like cigarettes and scotch, she had made him taste that way.

His hands move inside the coat, spreading over her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. The coat was sliding hopelessly, and to her shock he stepped into her, forcing her back against the railing. Effectively catching the coat and pushing Serene's mind into a frenzy. She kissed him more thoroughly then, her hands clawing over his hair.

He had been fully enjoying himself, learning her body with his hands. Comparing his observations with the tactile feel of flesh. He was aware of her, her tiniest movements and breathes. He had felt her hand leave his hair move down his body. Twitch in a way he couldn't connect, then he felt himself being pushed away.

"Tell me." Serene needed something, it was nameless and formless, but it encompassed her entire being. He blinked at her momentarily, before stuttering out a fountain of words.

"You- you're Canadian. Your grandfather was Dutch he taught you to roll cigarettes. You found the same papers he used to use when you were studying in France. The edges of the pack were worn, they are cheap but they travel with you. Why? You are far away from home living in a flat that isn't yours. They remind you of him, the cigarettes are a ritual. One you don't share with many people. Why me? You wanted to show me something about yourself. Something others won't see."

He touches her, tilting her face so he can see her neck. The bruises are darkening, but she seems generally unharmed. His coat has fallen off her shoulders and is pinned behind her. Her skin is pink she is cold. "You should go to bed."

"Alone?" She knows the answer, before he says it. She catches the coat behind her, as she pushes away from the balcony. She walks towards the house; he had forgotten her feet were bare. They are pink too they must be frozen.

Serene's flesh aches as she comes back into the warm flat. Her wrists have started aching too; she lays the coat down next to his blazer, hugging her wrists to her heart. He had been right of course. The cigarette made her think of her grandfather, made her feel grounded; the one little string connecting her to one point on the map. What he hadn't said, what she had shown him was that she had nothing left to lose. All those moments wrapped together in a thin pink paper, all she had to remember the man by. Now here she was in this palatial flat, squeezing in the cracks of another man's life. She was that to so many men, the light slipping through the cracks in their life. It wasn't always sex, or anything easily articulated.

"Doctor, I feel I should tell you that I am married to my work."

His voice truly was melodious, she smiles feeling colder than on the balcony. It was sweet in a way; the distance he kept.

"A relationship I am not eager to disrupt, Mr. Holmes." She turns to him; she knows she must be shivering. "Only enjoying a bit of sport"

"The distraction was-' He walks to his jacket and coat. '-Unprecedented"

He dresses himself again. Now there is physical distance between them, he is leaving and her mind is no longer consumed with the thought of seduction, she feels the frustration settling in again. It hadn't been right tonight. None of it. Not just that it had gone badly, there was something dancing on the edge of her memory.

Sherlock Holmes is almost at the door, "I was wrong." She hears him pause; she won't turn to see him.

"It all played out the way you said in the end."

"It's not over, I was wrong."

"Well then, I shall be seeing you again."

She hears the door click. She is alone once again.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: This chapter has been updated as of July 21, 2015. After staring at my traffic stats this seemed to be a point I was losing people; I'd be interested to hear reviews why this chapter specifically seems to be unpalatable. Hopefully the edit helped. Thank you to all the people who have been reading._

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It had been a long night after Sherlock left her standing in the middle of the living room, her arms and legs aching. She had stood there until the blood started flowing to her fingers and toes again. There hadn't been much else to do but go to bed.

The bed was too big, but she had only ever slept in it alone. It never really felt like her bed to defile, the fact she had tried to seduce Sherlock here told her everything she needed to know about how serious she had been. In a way failure had been a relief. So she slept curled up with the ridiculous silk sheet pulled up over her head. Her phone had been tucked up against her. She had waited all night it seemed for Gregory to text or call her. Insist he was coming over, or wanting to hear from her own lips she was okay. She had fallen asleep waiting and her phone was mockingly empty when she woke up.

Had his ego really been so bruised by her leaving with Sherlock? She had thought him more sensible than that, never ashamed to ask for help or accept it. Had Sherlock told him of their fleeting moments out on the balcony? That seemed the most unlikely of all of the options.

Therefore it was an angry and hurt Serene who had readied herself that morning. DI Lestrade would rue the day he had neglected to text her after she had nearly died in an alley for him. That morning, sunlight streaming into an opulent bedroom, found Serene zipping herself into her battle dress, someone was going to lose their head. She spent an embarrassing amount of time perfecting her hair and make up; she had debated how thoroughly to cover up the bruising. In the end she looped a scarf around her neck.

Sunshine beamed against the glass of her building. She looked up at her balcony as she ducked into the long black service car in front of her building and saw the scotch glass glinting back at her. She smiled as she remembered that part of the evening, poor Sherlock she shouldn't toy with him like that. She knew deep down that he would understand, a benefit of the analytical mind.

She had the car stop just down the street from Scotland Yard, outside a small coffee shop. She was about to put Gregory in a mood and she owed Donovan a coffee, at least.

The coffee smelled dark and sweet as she crossed the floor towards Donovan's desk. She could see the sergeant's curly head bent over a report. Serene smiled she liked Sally a lot. People might call her abrasive, but Serene knew that sometimes rubbing people the wrong way was the only way to get where you wanted to be. She knew more than one department chair would describe her that way.

Sally's desk was tucked well away from Greg's office; Serene was confident she could have this moment in peace. Her heels clicked on the tile as she slipped to the side of Donovan's desk. She placed the tray of coffee down on an empty square of desk and tried to make her smile carefree. She didn't want Sally to feel like a go-between for two fighting lovers. Donovan's eyes went to the coffee first, looking up at Serene.

"Well the Doctor is in." Donovan smiled. She looked tired.

"I figured you had more than earned a coffee.' Serene turned the face of the cup towards Donovan displaying the high-end shop's logo. 'Was it a late night?"

Donovan reached for the coffee in her direct way. "You owe me something stronger than coffee, leaving me to deal with him.' She takes a sip and her eyes momentarily flick up with appreciation. 'Although this is an excellent start."

"Was he hell?"

"He's worse this morning. What was it like having Freak follow you home?"

"Silent"

"That's a miracle." Serene has to laugh, if only she could tell Donovan that the man she called 'Freak' nearly had her on a balcony. Somehow she didn't think it would be as funny to her.

"Are you going in to see him?" Donovan's eyes look behind Serene to the hallway that leads to Greg's office.

"I have got one more coffee left."

"Leave it here. I am sure I will need it more than him."

Serene lifts the tray off the desk carefully, with her other hand she slips the pastry in the crinkly brown bag she had been holding surreptitiously at her side. She whirls away quickly, wanting to keep the fire in her burning before she reaches Greg, she doesn't want to be nice to him. She can hear the bag crinkle over the sound of her heels on the tile.

"Give him hell, Doc" Sally calls after her, croissant halfway to her mouth.

The door frame into Greg's office is windowed and she can see him bent over his paperwork. His door is slightly ajar and she slips in. He has heard her heels and not looked up.

"I told you Sergeant, I don't want to be disturbed-' He looks up then and his mouth is stopped, slightly open.

Lestrade had not been ready to see her yet, he felt gritty and tired. There she was though, leaning against his now closed door. He had not seen Serene in her full form since the Gala. She had become part of his late evenings and early mornings; barely any make up, her hair carelessly swept up and sometimes when he had been lucky her adorable clunky glasses. She was his geek, but always underneath the surface was what she could be if she needed. Serene the tigress was looking at him now, and he became very aware that he hadn't shaved this morning.

"Good morning DI Lestrade.' She stalks towards him and he can only watch her come closer. She casually comes behind his desk and leans her hip on the edge. She can feel the whisper of gabardine barely touching her knee. She is in his space now. She had discarded the coffee tray somewhere between Donovan and Lestrade. She sets the single coffee down on his desk, deftly taking his cold takeaway coffee and dropping it in his bin. 'I figured you could use a coffee."

Serene had never put herself on display for him like this before. He felt his mouth go dry and all he could think about was the way her tongue had traced a searing hot line along his ear last night. He instinctively pulled his ear, trying to exorcise the memory Serene smiles at him as if reading his mind. She gets up and he is left smoothing his shirt and nodding.

"Ah yes, thank you." He awkwardly picks up the coffee and takes a sip. It is good coffee, perfectly doctored and still hot, which was more than could be said about one in the bin.

"Oh yes' Serene pauses her back facing him, the exposed vee of flesh, the pert curve of her bum being hugged by flecked grey of her dress. 'I believe Anderson said these were central to the case."

With a quick flick of her wrist she drops a pair of black panties on the paperwork spread out on his desk. Lestrade nearly chokes on his coffee. He felt half-mad, it was such a relief to see her, but her underwear was sitting on his desk as if he had pulled them off her.

He doesn't know how he moved so quickly without tripping himself, but he made it to the door just as Serene had begun to pull it open. He pushes it shut, and Serene is between him and the door. He can smell her perfume and see the bandages on her wrists. He feels so many things it is like he is being pulled apart. Serene's head is down and she is waiting for him. He can barely see her neck, but he wants to know how badly it is bruised.

Serene could feel the heat of Lestrade on her back, he was close. She didn't know how long they would stand like this. A reckless feeling creeps up her spine and she gives in to it. She flicks the deadbolt, locking them in the office. She can hear Lestrade breathe in sharply, but he does not unlock the door. Instead she feels the tips of his fingers brush her neck, pulling down her scarf.

She turns to face him, leaning against the door. His hands gently unwind the scarf from her neck. His one hand clutches the thin cotton of the scarf while the other tilts her chin up so he can see the extent of the bruising.

The feeling of his fingers brushing her skin while he unwinds the scarf makes his heartbeat hard against his chest. It didn't help as he pulled it away from her neck he felt the soft cotton slither over the tops of her breasts. This dress was driving him around the bend; it seemed perfectly constructed to display a woman.

The bruising had subsided a bit, small ovals of purple where the bastard's thumbs had been, smudges that were his fingers. He can feel her pulse where his fingers are holding her head. If he were Sherlock this might tell him something, but the only thing he knows is it means she is alive. He traces a line down her throat with his fingers. Her eyes haven't left his face and he can see her tongue caressing the edge of her teeth.

"You should have gone to the hospital. This kind of injury it can be unpredictable." His voice is full of concern.

"I'm fine, still alive-' Serene takes his hand from the base of her throat, sliding it the centimeters down so the palm of his hand covers the swell of her left breast. '-See still beating."

Lestrade wonders if he will black out he feels the blood rush so quickly from his head to his groin. He had held her last night, but somehow in his office at 9 in the morning it felt like an unbelievable transgression. As much as he would love to press his body against her right now, he knows it is better to step away.

He coughs and retreats, Serene stays leaning against the door and it makes him feel like a coward. She laughs, and he feels it settle somewhere below his stomach. He knows he should cover himself behind the desk as his profile becomes more and more unprofessional. He wonders if he will ever get this woman out of his blood, even if he were to take her on the desk he feels like it would only fan the flames rather than quiet them.

Serene watches Lestrade sit himself at his desk, pulling his chair in farther than she had ever seen him. Normally he is relaxed in here, treating it as his kingdom feet on the desk. Once at 2am he wandered around in bare feet with his sleeves rolled up. He said it would keep him awake. She smiles at the memory and sits on the other side of his desk.

"We-ah- these aren't necessary. Anderson is a git." Lestrade gestures awkwardly to her underwear on the center of his paperwork. Serene opens her hands for them but barely extends her arm, Lestrade glances down at the underwear and back at her before realizing what she is going to make him do. He holds them awkwardly as he half stands half leans over the desk so he can drop them in her hand.

"Thank you." Serene dumps her panties unceremoniously into her bag and walks around to look at the paperwork from his side. "So where are we in the case?"

"You are nowhere. You're a victim now, you can't stay on."

"If I was an undercover officer, I would."

"No if you had been an undercover officer I would have sent you to the hospital, even if I had the strap you to the gurney myself."

"Is that what I missed last night?" She pulls the scarf he had forgotten he was gripping slowly out of his hand. He feels the fabric unwind and swallows hard.

Serene walks away from the desk and wraps the scarf around her neck once again, smoothing her dress down with her hands. Lestrade's eyes follow her hands as she tidies herself.

"I was wrong, it's not over." Serene's voice is barely a whisper, but her words pull him back to reality.

"What's not over?"

Serene collects her handbag from the chair she dropped it on. "The murders, he'll kill again. Might be months, but all of a sudden it will happen again."

"I killed him, Serene. There is a bullet in him and he is on a slab in St. Bart's." He gets up from his chair frustrated, getting in her space. "That's it; I am taking you to the hospital. You have obviously gone barmy."

He tries to take her by the arm, but she stalls him by stepping close to him and fiddling with his lapel. His grip softens on her arm; he runs his palm up to her shoulder, moving his hand to her face. He holds her face in his hand, his thumb tracing her jaw. She leans into his hand, tiny lightning bolts wherever his skin touches.

He closes the distance between them; he is close enough to kiss her. She feels her heart beat harder and her lips part instinctively. Instead he presses his forehead against her temple, a loving, tender gesture that makes her feel guilty for toying with him.

"Please, Serene, please."

She steps away from their embrace, her insides screaming in protest at the distance. She hadn't been prepared for him to question her conclusion. In hindsight she should have seen it coming. Lestrade had killed a man last night and if there was an accomplice he had silenced their best chance at finding him. He was trying to protect her now, but it was too late she was caught up in the chase. She needed to play outside the rules if she was going to finish what she had started last night. There was only one man who would give her that chance and it wasn't the detective inspector.

"Remember Gregory, I came to you first."

She lifts her bag onto her shoulder, freeing the trapped tail of her scarf. She walks to the door and unlocks it.

"Where are you going?"

"To see Sherlock Holmes."

Serene slips outside the door and Lestrade is left alone in his office. He exhales his frustration into the hand rubbing across his face.


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft Holmes is waiting outside 221B Baker Street as John walks up to the door. He is standing under the awning of the cafe downstairs, looking through a newspaper innocuously. John recognizes the brown folder tucked under his arm as an ominous sign.

"Official visit?"

"Aren't they all?" Mycroft responds without looking up from his newspaper. He smiles in the awkward pulled way the Holmes boys share when they have been inconvenienced.

"Why are you waiting down here?"

"My dear brother won't open the door.' Mycroft turns his bored stare onto the next article before folding the paper under his arm. 'but you're here now."

"What if I hadn't come?"

"I would have arranged something." Mycroft's tone has the finality that John has come to know. He shuffles through his pockets for his keys before letting them both in.

As they ascended the stairs John can't help feeling that being followed by Mycroft Holmes is akin to having a very stern shadow. He makes no noise on the creaky stairs, nor does he attempt small talk or the usual greetings.

John opens the door to the apartment to see Sherlock lying on the couch, his long fingers in prayer and pressed against his lips. He is in the same clothes as the night before, John is just grateful he isn't wrapped in a sheet.

"Mycroft leave, John stay and stop letting people in off the street."

"You wouldn't get cases if I did that.' John heads straight for the kitchen, not eager to witness a Holmes' staring contest. 'I'll make tea, shall I?"

"There's a tongue in the sugar bowl." Sherlock announces into space. His eyes focused on the ceiling.

"You're the one who takes sugar"

"Get up, brother mine. We need to have a family meeting."

"About what?"

"Your new girlfriend." There is a clatter in the kitchen and John sticks his head into the living room.

"Sorry, what?"

"For god sakes, she is not my girlfriend." Sherlock sits up, mussing with his hair.

"Hang on, you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

Mycroft opens the envelope and pulls out three photos lining them up on the coffee table. John walks over quickly to look at them.

"She appears to be a bad influence on you." Mycroft comments drily as Sherlock looks at the grainy photos on the coffee table. He sees himself lighting Serene's cigarette, then caressing her palm. It looks as intimate in the grainy photo as it felt out on the balcony. He remembers the way her tongue had touched her teeth and it makes his stomach tighten. The last one she is kissing him, his hands on her ribs and his body crushing her into the railing.

"That's Serene. That's Lestrade's woman."

"Apparently not." Is Sherlock's only response, as he sees John's phone whip out and snap a photo of the last one. "What are you doing?"

"Mary will never believe me."

"So she has a name, thank you John. You have made my job much easier"

"I am surprised you found it a challenge, Mycroft."

"Well I have only been aware for-' Mycroft consults his watch '-an hour."

"You rushed over here for this?" John sounds incredulous.

"I was going to congratulate you, until-' Mycroft throws a fourth photo on top of the pile. 'I saw this."

Sherlock picks this one up looking at it closely. He sees himself and Serene kissing, but it is zoomed in and enhanced. He can see one of Serene's hands tangled in his hair the other is clearly waving. Her eyes are looking into the camera. He begins to laugh throwing down the photo.

"Oh you clever, clever girl"

"This is no laughing matter Sherlock, I assume you know whose flat she is staying in?"

"Is she waving?" John sounds incredulous.

"Oh yes she is. She saw your cameras Mycroft, that's why she kissed me."

"Yes, it is obviously a warning. About how close she can get to you. I repeat, you know whose flat she is staying in?"

Sherlock bats the idea away with his hand "a billionaire who has spent significant time in Japan, frequently makes shady art deals and has a penchant for silk sheets. What of it?"

"Not any old billionaire, Sherlock; a billionaire activist who has been a financier for more than one anti-government militia from East Africa to Iran. Spent significant time in Japan trying to save the whales. It took me most of an hour to untangle the name on the lease. He is not a good man."

"It wasn't a warning, Mycroft- "

"How do you know he has silk sheets?" John pipes in.

"Hmm?" Sherlock turns to look at John directly.

"How. Do you know. He has silk sheets?" John clarifies, his voice mocking.

"Oh. I looked."

John starts chuckling to himself and Sherlock joins in.

"Really, you two. Can you take something seriously for once?"

Sherlock gathers the photographs up and hands them to Mycroft while ushering him out.

"Yes, yes we'll keep it in mind. Please take these with you, wouldn't want to get Mrs. Hudson's hopes up."

Mycroft stops him at the door "I mean it, Sherlock. Stay away from her and that flat."

"No, I don't think I will." Sherlock gestures out of the flat.

"Then I shall have to intercede." Mycroft walks out with his head held straight, his threat hanging in the air.

With a flourish Sherlock sits in his chair and starts plucking at the violin.

"So." John sits opposite him, his bad leg stretched out. "Out with it then."

"What?"

"Well we know why she kissed you, but why did you kiss her?"

Sherlock stops plucking and looks up at him. "Do I need a reason?"

"Yes, you are Sherlock, there is always a reason."

Sherlock shrugs. "She was drugged."

"What? Sherlock, that is the exact opposite of a reason to kiss someone."

"Relax, I wasn't the one who drugged her."

"Oh, right that makes it better."

"Seemed to be a good way to make sure she stayed awake."

"Right, is that your medical opinion then?"

Sherlock puts the violin aside. "Are we coming to a point, John?"

"Will you tell Lestrade?"

"I can't see it is any of his business."

"He's your friend, you shagged his girl. There's- there's protocol."

"She isn't 'his'. He's never even been back to the flat and I didn't 'shag' her. So the way I see it is no one's business, but my own."

John Watson nods thoughtfully. "Did you mean it when you told Mycroft you were going to see her again?"

"Of course-' Sherlock springs up and bounds towards the bedroom. '-After all she will be here any minute. If you excuse me I should really dress."

He disappears around the corner towards his bedroom and John looks around the whirlwind that is the flat.

"Christ. She's coming here."


	8. Chapter 8

Serene had meant it when she said she was going to go see Sherlock Holmes, but she couldn't bring herself to show him this dress. He would know immediately that she had worn it to punish Gregory and it upset her to think of Sherlock knowing the way she felt about the detective inspector. He must have a decent idea given the way she had been pressed against Gregory last night. Remembering it made her feel hot and foolish especially the way the night ended with her blood soaked in an alley. She hoped against hope that kissing Sherlock on the balcony had upset any conclusions he had reached about her. Keeping him off balance seemed to be the key to winning this game she had found herself playing as fervently as Sherlock himself.

When she had arrived home her feet carried her quickly through the lobby as she longed to wear a different mask for the day. Her task completed she now felt less like Boadicea charging to meet the Romans and more like Zenobia in her golden chains. Gregory's concern had deflated her anger towards him and she realized how tied by his kindness she was. Kindness was a hard emotion to revel in; attraction, flirtation and generosity could be given and taken in easy measures. Compassion never felt truly repaid or reciprocated and she resented the way her heart longed for it.

She was rolling this freshly admitted tenderness around in her mind as she approached the door to her apartment. She was pulled quickly into the moment by the realization the door was not pulled tight and locked but open. If she had pushed it with her fingers it would have swung freely. She felt a shapeless panic as her mind conjured the half formed memories of the night before. The accomplice, the man she could not see but could not forget, had he found her so easily? She shook her head to banish these thoughts. It didn't make sense that it would be someone connected to the case. The security in this building was impenetrable unless you had the key. Or something more powerful than a key; persuasion could open any door. She had been right then about the glint of light in the night. Whoever was having Sherlock tailed by cameras had stepped out of the darkness. She wasn't scared of a voyeur. She held her head high and pushed the door open.

She strode into the room, thankful that she was already dressed for battle, and assessed the man sitting in her periphery. She didn't pause or turn her head instead she walked straight to the kitchen.

"Good Morning, Mr. Holmes. Tea. Or something stronger?" She can feel this man's eyes burning into her back, must be a family trait.

"Bit early in the morning for something stronger, Doctor Laurent." Serene feels the judgment in his words, the disdain for whatever sense of fraternal duty that had brought him here. He had used her title to let her know just how open her life was to him. Two could play at that game and Serene didn't need the advantage of government records and time to snoop around his apartment.

"Well it must be nearly Tea in East Asia." Serene feels rather than sees the man stiffen, he relaxes quickly but the frisson in the air was unmistakable. Serene has her back to him as she fills the kettle and places it on the element.

"Very clever. My brother said you were." Mycroft watches this woman intently trying to keep the bored look on his face. His brother's attraction to her was much less inexplicable when he could see the quick intelligence in her eyes and the razor's edge to her tongue.

Serene gives in to whatever strange conversation is about to take place, she senses this man is not one to manipulate or dodge. He has come to tell her something and regardless of her morning plans she will hear the extent of it. She leans on the island looking at him and pulls off her heels. Her scarf follows next. He may delay her here but she won't stay in those ridiculous shoes in her own home. She walks barefoot to the chair opposite to him and sits with her legs tucked under her.

"You Holmes boys are so dramatic. Let me guess, this is a warning."

Mycroft made a pleased sound in his throat. "Yes, very well done."

He had watched her stride into the kitchen her dress was crumpled across her backside. She has been in more than one cab today, unusual for 10 AM. She put an awful lot of effort in to run such a short errand. The look was obviously meant to make an impression and given that she was now barefoot across from him pulling pins from her hair the impression hadn't been for him or his brother. DI Lestrade was the most obvious target. He had been involved in a case with a woman whose injuries matched exactly to this woman's. He had read the report Lestrade had filed last night after fatally discharging his weapon into a suspect. What did it mean for his brother's ill advised infatuation? Could a romantic rivalry drive the men's working relationship apart? That would be inconvenient given how playing detective had brought his brother to heel in a most efficient and subtle manner. For his peace of mind it seemed best to detach this woman entirely from the situation.

He watched in silence as she finished pulling pins from her hair and shaking the slightly mussed tresses into place. The kettle whistled on the stove and she silently went about readying a tea tray and carrying it through. This new information had upset his prepared speech and they remained in expectant silence as the doctor poured tea into rather plebian mugs.

"I must say you are taking an intruder in your home very well."

The odd peace that hung in the air was broken by his observation. He saw her smile into her tea mug. For the first time since her arrival she looks him in the eyes there is an impish gleam in them as she tightens her eyes at him as if to bring him into better focus. Her charm is undeniable.

"Do people usually find you frightening?"

"Usually. When I am trying to frighten them." Mycroft contemplates his tea. The mug may be of poor quality but the scent drifting from the steam is that of fine imported Darjeeling. It seemed a crime to serve it in anything but proper china, but he supposed he would persevere.

They drink their tea in silence and Serene can't help but wonder how often he is allowed these small intimacies.

"What do you know about the man who owns this flat?" His question isn't surprising the sheer cost of the flat precluded her from being its real owner.

There must be very few things this man does not know or have access to. Graham had obviously been what attracted his attention to her relationship with his brother. She instinctively clenches her jaw, loath to even speak Graham's name out loud in front of this man.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I am being serious, Doctor."

Serene sits back in the chair and thinks about Graham, unpacking the box of him she keeps in her head. She feels a lot of things towards him, but has very little empirical information. She thinks of his tan face and sandy hair. The way he spoke about his homeland in such hushed reverent tones. He and his guards had set upon her while she was on a research trip in Costa Rica. It had led to unexpected friendship.

"I know the first time I met him he pointed a machine gun at me."

"You can see then why I find it concerning the woman who is living in this flat is also pursuing my idiot brother." He has such pale blue eyes and the intensity of his gaze is uncomfortable. Despite the desire to deny that she was pursuing Sherlock, Serene felt it best to distract the conversation rather than admit that she was only trying to drown her own panic in his brother's body. It seemed unfair to reject Sherlock to his judgmental brother.

"I think those cameras follow him regardless. This flat is a convenient excuse to intervene, but really it doesn't matter. Why? Why do you care?"

"Every time a woman pursues my brother, romantically, the commonwealth always seems to pay the price." Mycroft swirls the dregs of his tea around his cup before taking a last sip and putting it back on the tray.

"I can see you are very 'Rule, Britannia!'" Serene balances her cup and saucer on the arm of her chair. "I wouldn't worry I don't think your brother is interested."

"At the risk of being indelicate, you are well ahead of anyone."

"Well then. Maybe I don't know whether I am interested. Last night was a bit of a blur."

Mycroft stands and checks his watch. "You'll excuse me. I only have so many hours a day to police my brother."

"By all means." Serene gestures towards the door smiling "do come again, we can dissect all my conquests"

Serene hears rather than sees Mycroft leave, once the door clicks shut she makes her way to the bedroom to change.


	9. Chapter 9

John slumped down in his chair, his arms crossed and his eyes closed. Sherlock had been an age getting ready and the late nights with the baby were running him ragged. He danced around the edge of sleep, feeling the warm pull of a mid morning nap. It seemed a million miles away that he heard the click-clack of heels on the tile. 'Mrs. Hudson' his brain whispered to him.

Serene had been let in by an older woman downstairs. She had silly pink dish gloves on and there was some soapsuds stuck in her hair where she had brushed something off her face. She had smiled and nodded when the landlady had asked if she was there for a case and said the boys were expecting her so there was no need to announce anything. It seemed Sherlock didn't agree with his brother on the level of security required.

She had found the apartment door unlocked and had let herself in. She wondered at the audacity of this move, she had assumed Sherlock would be expecting her, but as she walked down the hallway of a completely silent apartment she realized she had never actually told him anything. There was something about him that made her act without speaking, as if everything was a shared understanding between them.

Serene walked into the front room of the apartment, and the effect was dizzying. She hated the way her brain began to pull apart the room, all the way down to counting the rings left by mugs on the furniture. Tiny marks and scuffs told you everything you needed to know about the habits of the people who lived there. She always tried to scrub herself away in Graham's apartment, to not develop routines that wore away at the crispness of the flat. She always felt that honour should belong to Graham. Sherlock however had carved his name across the flat.

She saw John sleeping in his chair. Or it had been his chair when he lived there. Sherlock had dragged it about, but had dragged it back again; John must have started coming around again. Everything else in the flat seemed stagnant, never moved or cleaned.

Except.

There was soot on the tile in front of the fireplace; a fireplace that wasn't in use. Serene smiles as she walks to the mantel, she reaches into the firebox and feels along the small ledge inside, ancient soot floats down to the tile. She felt what she was looking for, crinkling cellophane and cardboard. She pulled out the hidden cigarette packet.

Serene tries to not make it a habit she hadn't been able to feed her sex drive, but she could have this. She walks to the window and opens it. Leaning out like a teenager, she pulls a cigarette from the half empty pack; inside is a small flint Clipper. She lights up and can taste the bitter tang of fuel and soot.

Somewhere in the back of his brain John can smell cigarettes. He tries to rouse himself to tell Sherlock off and take the packet from him. His eyes blink open, everything is blurry and he squints against the sun.

"Sherlock-' his eyes come into focus and he can't see Sherlock, instead he sees Serene's outline in the window. 'Oh hello. Mrs. Hudson doesn't really like us to smoke."

"I heard it devalues the wallpaper." Serene smiles as she flicks the ash out the window.

"Yes something like that... Can I.. can I get you anything? Tea?" John feels awkward about the beautiful woman catching him asleep, and her nonchalant smoking in an apartment that is no longer his own. He speaks rapidly trying to subvert his awkward position.

Serene opens her mouth to answer, but stops, her eyes flicking to the doorway. John turns to look and sees Sherlock standing in the doorway, immaculate in his black suit.

"Don't steal my lighter." His tone is wry she's pleased him. John can barely process this anomaly before Sherlock's words catch up with him.

"Wait, those are yours? Where-?" John looks exasperated, as he watches Sherlock cross the room to Serene.

He takes a hold of her hand, turning it in the light.

"The fireplace pack-' Sherlock nods appreciatively. 'Now you are just showing off."

He holds her hand a second longer than he would anyone else and John wonders what is between them. Sherlock takes the cigarette from between her fingers and throws it out the window.

"Wait, is there more than one pack in here?" John asks frustrated.

"Six"

"Seven" Sherlock corrects.

"Six" Serene smiles and throws the pack out the window.

Sherlock doesn't even turn his head. His eyes are locked on Serene.

"My lighter?"

Serene holds up her other hand, the yellow lighter tucked in her palm.

John runs a palm over his stubble; apparently this is how Sherlock flirts, throwing things out windows. He is not surprised, really. "Am I the only one having tea?"

"You've been making tea for over an hour."

"I've had enough tea, merci. Your brother says 'Hello' by the way." Serene leaves the window and crosses to chair.

"Mycroft. What did he say? Tell me everything." Sherlock springs to life, he kneels in front of Serene.

"Mycroft came to see her? Why would he do that? What is going on?" Sherlock's eyes move from Serene to John and back again. The look in his eyes urges Serene to ignore John's questioning. Serene instead breaks their intense eye contact and turns to John.

"He just wanted to remind me who's baby brother I was kissing on a balcony.' she looks back at Sherlock her mouth quirked in a teasing smile 'Apparently your girlfriends are often a threat to the nation."

"That's not necessarily untrue." John interjects. "Right then, I am going home."

Sherlock's head snaps to look at him.

"Oh don't give me that look. I am not following you two around all day with your half sentences and goo-goo eyes."

Serene laughs at him loudly, and Sherlock stands up adjusting himself irritated.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

Sherlock has stalked to the window to pull it shut. The set of his shoulders tells John he has hit a nerve, but John won't be swayed into staying.

"Lovely to see you again, Dr. Watson." Serene extends her hand to him and John shakes it. There is warmth to Serene that John appreciates, he doesn't worry about leaving them together.

"Remember there are cameras everywhere, Doctor" John jokes with his quick grin. Serene smiles back.

"I shall endeavor to behave myself."

Sherlock makes a disgruntled noise behind them.

"Just leave if you are going. I am sure I can take care of whatever Doctor Laurent requires."

"I am sure... you... can" John ducks out as Sherlock flings a disgusted look at him. He laughs to himself as he takes the stairs two at a time.

"Leaving already John?" He hears Mrs. Hudson call from her kitchen; he stops to bid her farewell.

"Yes, Sherlock can handle this one on his own."

"That's a bit unusual, isn't it? She was very pretty." Mrs. Hudson's words come out in a quick stream her thoughts running into each other.

John gives into temptation to create a little trouble. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and steps closer to Mrs. Hudson.

"I believe Sherlock would agree with you." He turns the photo he took earlier to show Mrs. Hudson Sherlock kissing Serene. She makes a surprised pleased sound her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

She takes the phone and turns it so she can see the picture better. She whispers conspiringly "That's quite bold isn't it, right out in the open like that."

"Who knows what I am leaving you to witness Mrs. Hudson." John grins at her and her eyes lift up to the flat upstairs.

"About time if you ask me." Mrs. Hudson kisses him on the cheek. "Say hello to Mary and the baby, tell her to bring herself around sometime. Give an old woman some joy."

"Will do. Have a good day." and with that John exited Baker Street.


	10. Chapter 10

There was a brief murmur of conversation then the sound of a door pulling closed and they were alone. Sherlock hadn't moved from the window and Serene was standing waiting for him.

"So what did Lestrade have to say?"

"Really, Mr. Holmes I am disappointed I have to tell you."

"He told you the killer is on a slab at Bart's with a bullet in his chest"

Serene turns to him and he looks bored, she could shake him. Instead she sets her face in a winning smile. "Almost to the syllable -"

"Then why are you here? Isn't that enough for you?" Sherlock's voice is abrupt and quick. The tempo meant to push her away.

"Is it enough for you?" Serene begins to walk forward; she wants to make him uncomfortable. Sherlock dances around her as she approaches. Now she is at the desk and he is at the sofa. He collapses onto it, lying flat his suit wrinkling under him.

"You're not me."

"No, no I'm not. You knew I was coming, though. Put on that fancy suit and everything. I need you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock sits up. "Need? Such a common idea isn't it, to NEED someone? Can mean so many things."

He walks towards her, before she knows it she is between him and the desk. He is staring down at her, his eyes tracing lines from her throat to her eyes, from her hair to her lips. There is no surface of her he does not reflect on, but her eyes remain steadily on his. He place his hands on either side of the desk, she is so close to him now. The tiny notes of cologne that had been faded last night are now bright and fresh on his skin. He smells of water too, the humidity of the shower clinging to his hair and skin. He is freshly showered and dressed; she had been right about the suit. She smiles pleased to be vindicated. When he does speak it is low and soft like a caress.

"So that begs the question, Doctor Laurent. What do you mean when you say you NEED me?"

She is tempted to kiss him again, to see what will happen now they are in his home. Instead she straightens from the desk, their bodies almost touching. He has to lean back to accommodate her.

"What I mean, Mr. Holmes, is that I need the type of man who can get me close to the slab."

He smiles at her, he is pleased at her response.

"Excellent."

And like a whirlwind he has his coat on and is dashing doing the stairs.

"Are you coming, Doctor?" He shouts behind, and Serene follows him down the stairs.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock had his phone out the second he settled his back against the taxi's seats. Serene sits next to him in silence waiting for him to speak.

He doesn't though, and when they pull up to St. Bartholomew's hospital he is out of the cab in a shot leaving her to pay. She sighs and hands over wadded up bills. She catches up with him midway down a hallway, his pace unbroken as if she knows the way.

Serene doesn't know how he walks and texts so confidently, but he makes it from the cab to the elevator without raising his eyes from his phone. The clunk of the elevator closing seems to rouse him and he drops it deftly into his pocket.

"Why lions?" He doesn't really seem to be talking to her; he says the question into the world as if he expects it to vomit out an answer. "Serial killers there's always something. "Catch me, catch me, catch me. Tell me I'm brilliant." They make a mistake eventually; their own cleverness gives them away. Are you the mistake or was Lauren Attwater?"

He looks at her then for the first time since the cab, his eyes appraising and wide. She had been thinking the same thing; it had made it so easy for them his lion obsession. That's why she was here now, how easy it had been had bothered her, driven her deeper for more answers.

"Perhaps it was a bluff? A distraction."

The elevator dings as Sherlock considers her response, the lion seemed too clear, too tempting. It called out to him from the muddled facts of this case. Serene was right that something was not right, but what? What was not right?

The doors open and he walks towards the morgue. He feels Serene just behind him.

"Well Doctor, I hope you are ready for the slab."

He pushes open the doors to the tiled room, his eyes searching for Molly. He hears the clang of a drawer being opened, a body being pulled out of refrigeration. He sees her at the far end and he walks towards her. He smiles as genuinely as he can; it is harder to get his way on a case when Lestrade is not with him.

"Ah, Molly."

The petite doctor whirls around to look at him.

"Oh hello Sherlock." She looks pleased until she sees Serene behind Sherlock, and her face falls slightly. Poor Molly her face was such a blank slate, all her emotions written across it so clearly. "Who's she?"

"A colleague of Lestrade's, actually" Sherlock barely turns to look at Serene as she catches up to him. He can see her in his mind's eye, her dark hair and eyes and trim figure. She was dressed simply, but she was more devastating for her simplicity. No wonder poor Molly, in her ill-fitting lab coat and awkward sweaters, felt jealous. "Dr. Laurent, have you met Dr. Hooper yet?"

Serene walks passed him with her hand extended. "Enchantée, Dr. Hooper."

Molly balks at Serene's wrists and her quick pathologist's eyes have seen the strangulation bruises. "Oh, are you all right? You've been attacked."

Guileless Molly straight to the point, she was so often over her head; but she was straightforward. Sherlock appreciated that about her. "Yes Molly, very observant. Last night actually, by him." Sherlock points behind her to the body on the slab.

"You've come to see the man who attacked you?" Molly's question is directed at Serene, but Sherlock answers quickly for her.

"Yes. If you don't mind."

"Why?"

"She thinks he's innocent. Well not innocent, he most definitely attacked her, but she doesn't think he killed the other girl. Really a shame he was shot then, if he wasn't a killer."

"The other girl?" Molly is staring at Sherlock transfixed her face halfway between confusion and distress.

"Yes she is probably here too, come to think of it. 5'7", brunette, late twenties came in last night, died from a head wound."

"Lauren Attwater? She's on my list."

"Excellent, we'll need to see her as well."

"I can't, Lestrade hasn't cleared you-"

After Molly had unintentionally refused her handshake Serene had drifted away to let Sherlock charm his way into the specialist registrar's drawers. She drifts passed the wall of metal, contemplating the names on the drawers. Her eyes land on the newly written label "Attwater, Lauren", she wonders if the tidy looping letters are Molly's, but the smudge in the ink tells her the writer was left handed. She thinks about the woman behind the metal door, her new life just started. She could have easily been next to her, here in the cold cavern of a room. The thought makes her heart drop and her stomach flip. The murmuring has stopped and Molly Hooper is walking briskly towards her, Sherlock his face mildly surprised follows behind her.

"You can't just flirt with me when you want something, you know. There are rules. I have superiors and it isn't like before when nobody noticed your experiments. You are practically a celebrity-"

Molly stops midway and angrily pulls open the drawer. Very suddenly Lauren is in front of them. It's different from in the alley; in the bright lights of the morgue death seems so final. Serene is taken aback at how real it all seems now; she feels silly for doubting herself. For making the story grander than it was, how dare she feel dissatisfied by this poor woman's end? As if the gruesome events that happened to her were not enough. She must have blanched because the anger had faded from Molly's eyes and she looked slightly sheepish.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock said you were a doctor I assumed-"

"Entomologist." Serene tries to smile nonchalantly but fears she must appear slightly sick.

"Ah, well, oh" Molly stammers and begins to pull the sheet over Lauren, but Sherlock stops her, his hand catching her wrist. Molly's mouth hangs open slightly and her eyes are fixed on Sherlock's hand on her wrist. He lets her go and begins examining the body's hands.

"It's fine, I saw her last night. I just- it seemed different."

Molly leans over the body whispering only to her, as if Sherlock was paying attention, which he wasn't. "Why do you want to see her? I don't understand-"

Sherlock springing into action cuts off Molly, he moves quickly to Serene and grabs her close by the arms. For a moment in the shock she wonders if he is going to embrace her, moved by Lauren's death. Instead he steps behind her, his one hand stays firmly gripped on her shoulder, while the other flies with full force to her throat. Grabbing her roughly, squeezing her aching flesh as if he means to kill her. Molly cries out slightly as Serene's hands instantly fly to her throat, tearing at his hand.

It is a struggle and she is panicking, but finally she manages to dig her fingers into his hand and tear him off, in one movement she thrusts her elbows backward to push him away. He falls back at her force and he tries to catch himself as she tries to get away from him. His hand is slightly bloody and he is flushed from the exertion of strangling her.

"Now, why-' He is examining his hand in fascination as the wounds well up slightly 'didn't you do that last night?"

"Wh-what?" Serene can barely choke out the word as she collapses against the drawers.

"How do you fight a strangler? He caught her, but she didn't fight. She must have wanted to fight. Tell me what you thought? What did you feel? Your instinct? You scratched me and you pushed me. She was drugged the same way you were what did you feel now that you didn't feel then?"

Serene still bent over thinks to the night before, what was different.

"You said it, you said it last night you wanted to seem him change. You wanted to see an animal, why? Most people would call him a 'monster'. You said animal."

"I felt fear. Not like… it was different, I couldn't look away. It was like being hypnotized."

"I need her blood work when you've done it." Sherlock turns to Molly and she jumps.

"Lestrade hasn't given you clearance-" Molly straightens her shoulders getting ready for an argument, but Sherlock ignores her. He walks quickly to the man Molly had been working on when they came in.

Sherlock looks at the man from top to bottom, his atrociously dyed blonde hair. Sherlock pulls up the man's lip to look at his teeth. He leans in and smells him.

"Oh, oh this is brilliant." Sherlock is whirling and pacing in his excitement.

Serene straightens with some difficulty and walks over to the man's body. She can see the bruised, torn hole in his chest. The place where Greg's bullet pierced his body, she hadn't thought about it until this moment. As she fell into the darkness she assumed he had been instantly dead pinning her to the earth with his lifeless body, but now she saw where the bullet had gone in. Greg had good aim it was a kill shot, but not instant. He had laid on her alive then, the warmth she had felt was his blood pumped from him by a slowly dying heart. Serene hadn't considered this, for a moment she felt sick all over again, and sad. Yes he had tried to kill her but now he was in front of her again she saw something she didn't see then, what Sherlock was seeing right now. A drug addict, a new one. A man who smelled like sweat, but vaguely of cigarettes and beneath that of something chemical and familiar. Lauren Attwater had smelled of it as well. She looked closed at the man's hairline; the blonde had blotches of brown at the scalp.

"Coal-tar shampoo?" Serene knew the smell well, it took her back to her travels trying to stop lice invading her long hair.

"Yes, common for the treatment of psoriasis. Now I suppose it is possible that both Lauren Attwater and this man were part of the 2% of the population that suffer from that particular skin condition or-?" He looks at her waiting for her to fill in the thought.

"Up until recently they had been sharing the same space." The grim realization makes Serene feel a little sick. To be betrayed by someone you trusted so completely. "The killer didn't take her ring, she worked it off herself."

"You wake up one day and realize the man you're going to marry is a stranger to you, a drug addict in fact. What do you do? Walk away, get rid of the ring and go out with your girlfriends for a night on the town?"

Serene can hear hurt in his tone, this is something Sherlock Holmes understands. Was it possible then that this was the fiancée they had known was out there?

"What about the other girls?" That was the piece that didn't add up the four other women who had come before Lauren Attwater.

"Yes what about them? If she were the final piece, the last revenge he wouldn't have gone after you. Unless, unless our poor dead friend over here was just the puppet. The master was the one drugging him, teaching him the trade, grooming him. Her death was a treat, a last gift before sending him off on his own. You were his first. Explains the sloppiness."

His gestures bring attention back to his hands, the wounds weeping slightly.

"Sherlock, your hand." Molly had been watching them mesmerized, but she was distracted now by Sherlock's wounds. She moves forward and tries to catch his hand.

"Never mind that, we have so much to do. Come along."

Sherlock turns on his heel and sweeps out of the morgue leaving Serene and Molly staring at each other. Serene feels like a mess, that they've thrown Molly's afternoon into chaos. Surprisingly Molly seems calm and unruffled. She does have a slightly awkward look on her face.

"Umm that's usually means you." Molly looks apologetic.

"Oh yes, I guess it must."

There is no sign of Sherlock at the elevator and she takes the lift alone hoping she hasn't lost him entirely. She finds him though outside the hospital getting into a cab madly texting. She barely catches him in her damaged state; she practically throws herself into the cab.

"Scotland Yard." Sherlock says without looking up or acknowledging her wheezing.


	12. Chapter 12

Serene found herself outside Scotland Yard for the second time that morning after her third silent cab ride with Sherlock Holmes. She wasn't sure what to make of the silence that came with working with Sherlock Holmes; he spoke in bursts of truth rather than theories. Gregory was of an older ilk of policeman, who threw out ideas and observations in an attempt to make a case stick together.

"Why are we here, Mr. Holmes?" She asked trying to keep pace with his long legs.

"As our man was very naked at Barts I thought we might learn something from his effects." Sherlock's teasing tone was less charming when he was dragging her all over London.

Sherlock walked confidently through the lobby of the Yard towards a small side door beside the elevator bank. The door opened up onto a dimly lit stairwell, Sherlock strode through the door quickly and Serene followed him. When the door shut behind her Sherlock stopped short on the second stair, forcing Serene to awkwardly catch herself before hurtling down the stairs. Her hands gripped the handrails and she found her body shunted to avoid Sherlock. To her surprise she felt Sherlock's hands on her waist and he stepped up setting her more firmly on her feet. He let go of her, but kept their bodies close his eyes searching her face.

"Dr. Laurent, I should warn you my methods of detection are not the ones you have become accustomed to with Lestrade. I am not a policeman and I don't behave as one. If you find this in any way troubling you should turn back now."

Serene smiles at his earnestness, he has a knack for making everything sound so momentous. She takes advantage of their unusual height difference and straightens the collar of his coat. It is an intimate gesture and his eyes do their best to follow the movement of her hands.

"Really, Mr. Holmes, I am disappointed you think I am the type to follow the rules."

Sherlock noticed the drop in her voice, the intimate sultry tone she used to conjure thoughts of sex and flesh out of a seemingly normal conversation. He had the fleeting idea to back her into the door and slip his hands beneath her shirt. He wanted to feel her skin; it remained a mystery to him. Instead he forces himself to walk away, ignore the small rush from his head to his belly when he remembered her kissing him.

"Excellent, shall we?" And with that Sherlock whirled down the stairs into the underbelly of Scotland Yard.

Serene had thought the poorly lit basement corridor was a thing of fiction; something conjured from the minds of depressed authors. However the greyed and blinking fluorescents shoddily illuminating the hallway she and Sherlock were currently striding down, begged to differ.

"This is a long way to go for a pair of pants." Serene felt like they had been walking for ages.

"I was more hoping for his trousers, but you can keep a souvenir if you like. After all he did almost kill you."

Serene rolls her eyes as she falls into pace behind him, the British and their word play.

At last they came upon a locked door in the unending dimness of the basement. Serene ran her hand over the high-end lock and keypad.

"End of the road, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock reached over her shoulder and slid a card through the reader. The little light blinked green and with a buzz the lock released. Sherlock popped the card into Serene's hand before catching the door handle.

"Open sesame." Sherlock pulls open the door, his body curved around Serene. She feels his hand on her lower back easing her to step through into the dank smelling evidence locker.

Serene looked at the card in her hand; Greg's serious face stared back at her. She looks at Sherlock out of the corner of her eye, brows raised.

"Ah yes, do me a favour and return that will you?" Sherlock winks and begins immediately scanning the boxes.

Serene tucks the card into her back pocket and begins scanning the shelves as well. There are boxes of varying ages with different handwriting on the outside, printed sign out sheets stapled to the outside of the boxes. Shelves and shelves of them like an underground library.

Sherlock quickly eliminates sections of the room, in his mind's eye shrinking everything down to just one shelf, the most likely place. He imagined the room empty, brand new and thousands of ghostly officers filling the shelves one by one. Left side first, the English instinct to begin at the left and work right. The case would have been coming in late at night or in the early morning; a tired sergeant was a lazy sergeant. More space to the right, is it a heavy box? Probably medium weight just the shoes really. It would be between waist and shoulder height then; an empty space visible from the door to the right at waist level, but not above the shoulder. Sherlock stands in the doorway scanning with his hand, picturing each shelf as if it were in front of him. A shape crosses his line of vision. Serene is pulling a box from the shelf. He smiles at her observations and waits for her to bring it to the table in the centre of the room.

She opens the lid and peers into the box; she inhales deeply, cigarettes and alley damp.

Without hesitation Sherlock begins rifling through the box, pulling out the man's cigarettes and inspecting the package for tampering.

"I believe you were looking for these?" Serene holds up the evidence bag of clothes for Sherlock to see.

"Yes, thank you" Sherlock, tucks something unseen into his pocket and reaches for the trousers. He snaps open the bag and lays them out on the table. There is a strange metal clink as they hit the table, Sherlock's eyebrows quirked.

Prodding the fabric with his fingers Sherlock works his way up one leg then the other. He feels a small bump in the pocket on the right side. He carefully places his hand inside the pocket but it is empty. Holding them up to the light he investigates the seam of the pockets, with deft fingers he slips into the false lining of the pocket. Inside is the rewarding feeling of a pound coin.

Sherlock holds the coin up to the light and Serene reaches for a closer look. Before she can touch it Sherlock snatches it into his fist and places it into his pocket as well.

"We should go."

The items are pack away into the box in the blink of an eye and Serene finds herself once again doggedly following the detective out into the hallway.


	13. Chapter 13

If he was told the last 24 hours had lasted several men's lifetimes Lestrade would have believed it. He felt every minute hang on him as he walked toward his small flat. He had a small bag of Chinese cradled against his side, the burning hot tinfoil trays were pressed uncomfortably into him radiating through the paper into his arm and side. He had tried to bring an unwieldy box of files home with him, but Donovan had intervened. He was grateful now as he felt his eyes dropping shut the nearer he got to the door. She had been right of course, the bastard was dead there was no rush unwinding his madness.

He reached the end of the hall and his flat's non descript door. He leant with his forehead pressed in the wood, fumbling in his pockets for his keys. He remembered ending many late nights in the pub in this position, trying to stop the world from tilting long enough to let himself into the flat. How different his life had become and yet so unchanged, he never pictured he would still be coming home to an empty flat so many years later.

He lifted his keys to the deadbolt and felt an immediate rush of adrenaline. The light caught on a tiny scratch on the keyhole. He didn't need Sherlock to tell him it was fresh and made by the delicate tip of lock picking equipment. He silently mimed beating his head into the door at the thought of dealing with Sherlock on no sleep. He grit his teeth and opened the door, the knob turning freely in his hand.

At first glance the apartment appeared as it always did slightly disheveled and sparsely furnished. Lestrade deposited his stack of Chinese on the hall table and walked purposefully towards the living room where a small amount of light was pooling in the hallway.

"What was so bloody important you needed to break into my flat?" Lestrade barged into the room only to have his questions die on the tip of his tongue.

It was not the consulting detective he found in his apartment. Instead Serene was curled up asleep in his armchair. A book was resting on her chest; one of the embarrassing sports biographies people always seemed to give him for Christmas. The only books he owned now that he thought about it, he didn't even have decent reading material to offer her.

What had made his stomach flip and all the blood rush downwards was what she was wearing, in his apartment. She had changed the dress; instead she was in jeans and one of his work shirts. On her feet was a pair of his thick white trainer socks. He immediately felt possessive. She looked like she belonged here, waiting for him to get home, knicking his shirts and socks.

Then he was angry, truly angry. What was she doing here? Presenting such a lovely domestic picture when he knew he could never ever live up to it. He realized as he had been staring and seething Serene had woken up. She was looking at him with her large hazel eyes, only the slight flush about her cheeks and neck made it obvious she had just been sleeping. She closed the book and put it on the coffee table slowly. He was too angry to speak and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"I have something to tell you-" Serene started, but the sound of her voice fresh from sleep set something off in Lestrade.

"Do you know breaking and entering is a crime? I could have you arrested."

Serene didn't say anything; she got up from the chair and walked towards him. She stopped just in front of him and held out her wrists.

"I'll go quietly" there is something in her voice half serious, half joking that turns Lestrade's anger into recklessness.

Before he could think about it he had pulled her against him. He always thought he would be gentle and tender; showing her how he worshiped her, pouring all the love he felt and couldn't speak into her. Instead his mouth was closed and his grip was like iron on her waist. The apartment is small; with a few steps he can back her up against a wall. Their bodies collide into it hard and he feels her groan and her fingers claw into his chest. When her mouth opens that last shred of sense evaporates. He groans and he hears her breath hitch. She is pushing back now, her mouth, her tongue, and her teeth matching him.

His mind is racing and he begins to move them towards his bedroom. They stumble back through the open door and Lestrade curses the old laundry under foot. He closes the door, pushing it shut with their bodies.

He feels her push against his chest and he lifts his head from her neck where he had been biting and licking moans from her. He sees her then, her hair wild and her lips red. He has left tiny marks all over her and it makes his head spin. He plunges his head forward to take her mouth again, but is stopped when he feels her palms flat pushing on his shoulders.

"Don't you want to hear why I've come?" Her voice is breathy. She was offering him the chance to stop.

"No. You're under arrest, remember?" It's that reckless feeling that takes hold of him again and moves his knee between her legs, pinning her to the door. He shrugs his suit jacket off and adds it unceremoniously to the laundry on the floor. It is a well practiced almost ingrained motion that he pulls his cuffs from his belt and locks them around her wrists.

She wasn't sure what she had expected from Greg, but the cold metal around her wrists and feeling herself be pushed up with his lean hard body and her hands lifted over her head had caught her completely off guard. When she feels the chain catch on a robe hook on the back of the door, she has never been so aroused in her life.

He began unbuttoning his own shirt from her, he had never thought the rough cotton of a work shirt could be erotic until he was pushing it aside to reveal the soft, olive skin beneath. Serene's head tilted back and her breathing was erratic as Lestrade ran his fingers over the swell of one of her breasts. He had always known Serene to be a passionate woman, but now with her head thrown back and her mouth moving almost soundlessly he thought he had never seen someone so magnificent. He worried about her wrists and the bruises along her body, but she didn't seem to be in pain or even to notice. Her legs were still straddling his thigh and he moved his leg so she could press against him. He returned his mouth to her collarbone as his hands fumbled with the fly of her jeans. Her breath hitched and her mouth moved faster. She seemed to be rambling wildly in French; nonsensical words falling from her mouth. He had rarely heard her speak her native language, except on occasion to curse under her breath, but now it seemed English had escaped her and the throaty desperate words tumbling from her mouth were making his hands shake and his heart hammer against his ribs.

He kissed her mouth to silence her, so his hands could work without the dizzying effect of her voice. He managed at last to free the zipper and push his hands down between the fabric of her jeans and warmth of her flesh. He gripped her like this for a moment kissing her and holding her up. He could hear the rattle of the chain as she tried to lift herself off the hook. He smiled to himself as he raised one hand to pin her wrists to the door and with other he tugged at her jeans. He had to kneel to take them completely off and he found himself at eye level with the silky vee of her panties. He felt a small foot brace on his thigh and he lifted a smooth tan leg onto his shoulder. Allowing her to brace herself against the pressure of the handcuffs. He turned his head and kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her thigh. He began kissing his way towards her centre and he felt the muscles in her legs tighten against him. He was just to run a tentative finger around the edge of her underwear when he felt all her muscles contract and the tell tale rattle. He shot up to press her wrists into the door again but he was too late and with surprising grace Serene landed on her feet in front of him.

Serene the tigress was in front of him again and he felt frozen by the heat in her eyes. Her hands working together in the cuffs she began to undress him. He was impressed by her dexterity while restrained. She worked slowly at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it off one shoulder, then the other. He was pale compared to her, all his time spent in London. She stepped closer and found the fly of his trousers. He was silent and he knew his mouth was hanging open, but the feeling of her hands so close to him rendered his brain useless. She managed the zipper and pushed his trousers open. To his shock she didn't try to take them off. Instead she knelt in front of him and looking up into his eyes reached to free him from his pants. He knew what she planned and in his heightened state he knew he wouldn't be able to hold back. With one swift motion he grabbed the chain of her cuffs and pulled her to her feet, he dipped down and caught her over his shoulder.

Serene squealed in shock as he carried her thrown over his shoulder to the bed and dumped her in the centre of his tangled sheets. He grabbed the chain again and looped it over the finial at the head of his bed.

"You're ruining my fun, Gregory." Serene purred at him and he felt nothing but love bubble up in him. He kissed her softly then, holding her face in his hands. He followed the trail of marks he had left on her, kissing each one tenderly. He kicked off his shoes and trousers and lay beside her on the bed. Skin against skin, she felt so soft and warm. He ran his palm over her ribs and down her stomach. He wished he had kept the keys in his pocket; instead they were somewhere in the apartment tossed aside. He swore to himself, this wouldn't be the last time he would see her like this. Next time she would be completely naked under him and he would be gentle and loving.

He lay there touching her, as she was helpless beside him. He traced his finger along her underwear again, this time catching the band and slipping beneath the fabric.

Somewhere deep in the apartment his phone chirruped.

Lestrade froze and Serene sighed. Lestrade couldn't move, he felt like if he moved he would wake up and this would all be a dream. Without the pressure of him on her body Serene unhooked herself from the bedpost. She sat up next to him and kissed his cheek. She left the bed to find her jeans and by some miracle managed to shimmy herself into them still handcuffed.

"Hold on I'll get the keys." Lestrade feels like laughing as he watches inch by inch all her glorious skin disappear under fabric. His phone chirrups again as he pulls on his trousers. He swats her playfully on the ass as he passes. "Do I want to know how you got so good in those?"

He wished he could turn this part off the copper who was always on duty. Serene hadn't said a word about it she had known the call was coming after all. She had come here for a reason before he had thrown them ridiculously off course.

She follows him out into the dimly lit apartment; Lestrade is buttoning his shirt and searching for his keys.

"In the kitchen." Serene offers dropping into the armchair again. Lestrade doesn't even ask how she knows, but they are there sitting next to his cooling take out.

He walks back to her, keys and takeaway in hand. He feels sheepish as he unlocks her. It had all felt so suave and dangerous in the moment, but now that they were both dressed and in the living room he felt silly.

Once freed from her restraints Serene pounces on the cartons. He loves this about her; the way she eats with enthusiasm. He remembers going to dinner with Katherine, watching her pick away at limp salads not letting herself enjoy anything. In his own stunted imagination he thought all women were the same in this regard; he had be irrationally aroused the first time he had split a curry with Serene. It had been a late night at the office and the contents of the tinfoil trays bobbed with grease, he was prepared for pouting or bird like picking at the globs of fatty meat and peas. Instead Serene had tucked in, groaning with delight. He could have kissed her when she wiped a tray out with naan. He feels her squeeze in beside him on the sofa and he realizes he has been staring; his phone gripped in his hand like a talisman.

"Why do I feel like you know what this message is going to say?"

Serene shakes her head and fishes around in the stir-fry with a fork. She nods at the handcuffs on the table "I can't say anything without my lawyer present." She offers him a forkful of broccoli and bean sauce; he lets her pop it into his mouth.

With a sigh Lestrade opens the message on his phone.

COME TO BAKER STREET. SH

That was it, a summons from Sherlock Holmes. He had stopped the most invigorating encounter of his life for a text from Sherlock bleeding Holmes. He turns the phone to Serene and she leans in to read the message. She nods understandingly and stands up with her stir-fry. Lestrade catches her by the hand,

"Where do you think you are going?"

"I am coming with you to Baker street" Serene says matter-of-factly. Lestrade smiles his wolfish grin and tugs her down onto his lap. He quickly puts her carton on the crowded coffee table as he begins to roll her underneath him.

"Who says I am going to Baker Street?" He says in a low voice as his hands find his way to the buttons of his work shirt again. Serene laughs a short, heady laugh as she tries to refasten the buttons as he works his way down his stolen shirt. He bats away her hands with one of his; the other hand insistently working its way down the buttons. He is successful enough to reveal the smooth curve of her throat and sternum. She rolls her head back as she feels him lean into her. His stubble makes her skin tingle and he is gentle and warm as he kisses her throat. She was unprepared for how loving he is, even in the heat of their earlier exchange. She feels his hands move up under the shirt, caressing the skin above her jeans, before smoothing down to the top of her fly. Her head tells her this won't last and interruption is coming but her body screams for the satisfaction denied it earlier.

She takes his hands away from her jeans and pulls them over her head; he is off balance and collapses on top of her. He laughs and adjusts them so he is not crushing her; it feels so good stretched against each other, she could stay like this forever. She wishes her thoughts would quiet and let her enjoy this moment, but nothing has ever cut off the constant stream of words. Even sex had a constant buzz of observations and feelings run through it. Greg didn't quiet her mind he set it on fire.

Lestrade felt Serene slip away from him; he knew she was thinking about everything. The situation, the timing, the future and the case formed a tangled string in her mind. He knew her well enough, every look and movement in her face, this wasn't a "no" or even a pulling away from him. He felt her hands clenching his above her head, but her movements lacked focus; she ground her hips against his in a way that pushed him closer and closer to the edge. This however was Serene chasing down a thought; he had seen her do this so many times before. He relaxed against her, let go of her hands; stroked her face and hair.

Serene had been thinking about Lestrade's flat; how neither of them really had a home in London. Greg had left his home behind when his wife had left, while Serene always felt like she had stolen her home from Graham. Maybe that's what had drawn them together their unsatisfying home life. She felt it ran deeper than that, in a way she was totally unaccustomed to, they understood each other. She could still feel his weight on top of her, pinning her to the couch. However his kisses had stopped, her hands were empty and instead she felt the soothing pressure of someone stroking her hair. She felt her eyes focus on Greg's handsome face as he watched her. She felt very exposed realizing how distracted she had become. Her eyes focused on him and his hand paused stroking her hair.

"Hello there." Greg whispered softly to her, pressing his forehead against hers. She felt a rush of emotion when she realized he had been waiting for her; she felt like crying. It was embarrassment, frustration and an overwhelming affection forming a lump in her throat; she didn't think she could bear his kindness. She lifted herself against him and kissed him, her hands balling his shirt and her leg hooking around his pulling him against him. She wanted to drown the rushing feeling moving from the back of her throat to her toes. She feels his muscles tighten against her, resisting her urging kisses. She feels his hands brushing her hair, his mouth trying to slow her down. She begins to move her hands between their bodies, her palm smoothing down his stomach towards his belt.

Lestrade groans as he feels her hand deftly slide beneath his trousers, her frantic energy worries him. He wants nothing more than to push her legs open and sink into her, to feel nails dig into his shoulders as he brings them both to their climaxes. He can't though; he can't let her give in to whatever emotion is driving this passion. Her hand is stroking him and her teeth are biting her way down his jaw, he feels himself leaning into her. It's like being a teenager all over again; the nerves building inside him, the desperation to be allowed further, sweat as he grinds their fully clothed bodies together. It seems like a blessing when his phone chirrups again, no amount of chivalry or respect could have made him stop. She was skilled and he felt oafish in comparison. He hadn't been with anyone in years; her movements were so natural and experienced.

Serene felt Greg move away from her and she slid her hand out of from between them. He had felt so solid beneath her fingers, his muscles tensing as he instinctively pushed into her. The need to cry had abated and instead she felt the growing heat of desire overwhelming the cold sting. Now his phone was chirruping and he was moving away from her.

Lestrade reaches for the phone he knows what to expect. He is not disappointed by Sherlock's terse response.

Urgent! SH

Lestrade sighs and straightens up. "Alright, I give. Come along."

For the second time tonight Serene is buttoning her shirt and sorting herself out. She feels hot and frustrated. Greg looks similarly distracted and she wonders what comes next for them. As they are heading out the door her own phone buzzes and she pauses to check the screen.

"What, is he texting you now?" Lestrade sounds frustrated as he locks the door behind them. Serene feels frozen staring at her phone. It had been an email; it was from her apartment building or more accurately the automated security system in her building. The subject line was 'welcome home'.

As she was the only one who used the apartment who was 'on the grid' all the building emails came to her, this one was sent because someone had used the iris scan for the first time in a very long time. Graham. It could only mean Graham was home.

"Are you coming?" Greg looks eager to leave, his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets he is staring at her. Serene feels like she can barely breathe let alone talk.

"No, no I am not." Serene tries to affect nonchalance as she tucks the phone into her pocket and kisses Greg on the cheek. "I have to go, work needs me. You go."

And with that she turns and practically flees the apartment building.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: The last chapter seemed to go over well, this story has a few more followers. Thank you to those reading and following. I don't normally post my writing in a public forum and this has been an interesting adventure._

As Lestrade makes his way over to Baker Street he catches a glimpse of himself in the rearview. His eyes are tired and the streetlights overhead make the lines on his face seem deeper. He is stopped by a red light and slams the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. He briefly considers turning on the siren to get this night over faster.

His mind was consumed entirely with thoughts of Serene; he couldn't even formulate a guess as to what Sherlock had summoned him about. As far as he was concerned the case was closed, he'd shot the bastard and now it was on to the next one. He couldn't stomach leaving things the way he had with Serene, her practically fleeing from him in the hallway of his apartment building. He couldn't imagine there were many work emergencies in the world of entomology. It had been someone else then that she had gone running to and the thought made him hot with anger. He must have been a disappointment to her then after such a long game of cat and mouse. He cursed his small fishbowl life that had left him so ill suited to please the woman who had fallen into his lap. He had spent thirty years trying to make it work with Katherine, because he had felt that had been the right thing to do, but what type of person had that made him?

By the time he pulled up to Baker Street Lestrade was fuming, at himself, at this case and at the most infuriating consulting detective on the planet. He had never felt envy towards the man before, he always considered him with a certain degree of sympathy. However after what could only be described as a disastrous sexual encounter he found himself profoundly envious of Sherlock's ability to rise above human companionship.

The door to Baker Street was unlocked and Sherlock was waiting for him in the apartment, his sleeves rolled up and three nicotine patches lining his pale arm.

"Well what is it?" Lestrade strides into the room, ready to turn around and leave at the slightest sign of difficulty from Sherlock.

Sherlock turns his head and takes in the DI's rumpled appearance. The creases in his shirt, the slight red marks on his neck and jawline. Lestrade looks awkward under Sherlock's gaze; the normally unflappable detective coughed and couldn't meet Sherlock's eyes.

A woman then, he had been in the middle of an encounter with a woman. Sherlock felt an unexpected stab of distaste realizing it must have been Serene.

Sherlock inhales sharply dismissing the emotion and turns the laptop in front of him to face Lestrade. He leans in squinting at the screen. After a short moment he straightens again.

"That is a coin."

"Very good, Detective but I was hoping for something a little bit deeper."

"It's a picture of a coin on a laptop. If this is all you have to show me you could have emailed."

"I was worried the significance would escape you if left to your own devices. Of course Doctor Laurent could have helped."

Lestrade feels cold at the idea that Sherlock knew exactly what had passed an hour before. He opens his mouth to ask and Sherlock raising his hand stops him.

"Do you really want to know, Detective?" He gives Lestrade a significant gaze from head to toe and Lestrade rolls his eyes in frustration.

"Okay, I give in what about this coin is so significant"

Sherlock lays a pound coin on the table he does it with a flourish that indicates it is important.

"Is that supposed to be a clue? Right, are they the same coin?"

Sherlock stands and begins pacing, point to the coin and the laptop frustratedly.

"Look, Detective, use your eyes! What makes that coin different from any other coin in London?"

Lestrade defiantly picks up the coin and turns it in the light. Scratched into its surface are the words "magnuficentia sanguine".

"Latin? Someone carved that into this coin."

"Yes, 'Pride in Blood'. A superficial translation from English to Latin, schoolboy level intrigue."

"Don't think they taught Latin in my school. How do you know it's connected?"

"I found it in the dead man's pockets."

"Why were you going through his pockets?" Lestrade raises his voice at Sherlock; he is shocked by his audacity.

"A better question is; why didn't you?"

"Because he's guilty, Sherlock. I don't need to know more than that. I shot him in an alley trying to commit the exact same crime again an hour after. Believe it or not you don't need a whole lot more proof than that."

"Except that Lauren Attwater was killed by someone else."

Lestrade's evening collapses around him; he knows too well that Sherlock would not have called him here unless he was certain of what he was saying. He sits on the couch in front of the laptop looking at it and the coin.

"Speaking of Ms. Attwater, perhaps you could shed some light on the fact her flat had been broken into."

Sherlock sets an engagement ring on the keys of his laptop. Lestrade rakes a hand through his hair his eyes rolled up to heaven.

"Christ's sake, Sherlock, this isn't consulting on a case it's damn near obstruction of justice."

"I found that coin inside the lining of the pocket, it was hidden so he wouldn't spend it by accident. It is a token one that would be dangerous to lose. I had Molly run tests on both Lauren's blood and the killer's; soon I can prove they were both being drugged. There must have been more victims, I wonder if they were all engaged to each other."

Sherlock loves revealing his cards to Lestrade, he may not be as effusive as John but with Lestrade it was like beating someone at a game they were playing.

"He was her fiancé? You said the killer would have her ring, now he's her fiancé? You have no proof that this wasn't anything more than an open and shut domestic."

"That coin is from the eighties; 1983 to be exact."

Lestrade holds it in his palm, it looks pristine to him he would never have guessed its age. "So?"

"So? SO. Look at it. It shines; no scuffs from other coins no wear from oil. Someone has been keeping it safe. The killer wasn't old enough, but the person who gave him that coin was."

"Lets say for the sake of argument, I believe you-"

"You do believe me." Sherlock's tone makes Lestrade want to punch him. He had forgotten how hard it was before John Watson.

"If I believed you, what proof do we have? To everyone concerned this looks very open and shut."

"Simple, we wait for him to kill again."

It's a ghoulish thought, waiting for another victim. There must be another way to prove this wasn't what it seemed. Lestrade couldn't think of one though, it was late and all of him ached from hunger and frustration. Nothing would change tomorrow; he could sleep and hopefully save another woman from a similar fate.

"You are saying there are more nutters out there with these coins."

"I am saying the killer spent significant effort protecting a coin that has no apparent value."

Lestrade fishes a small envelope out of the mess that is Sherlock's coffee table and drops the coin and the ring into it. "Alright then, I will look into it tomorrow."

As he reaches the door he pauses when he hears Sherlock's voice.

"You never told me where the good Doctor is? Why isn't she with you?"

"Work emergency."

Sherlock looks charmingly perplexed "Are there a lot of emergencies in entomology?"

"Piss Off." Sherlock looks bemused as Lestrade heads down the stairs.

Serene had been invaluable help this afternoon. Molly hadn't run any tests, in fact she refused to do anything more after Sherlock had nearly strangled Serene in the mortuary.

He flexes his hand that Serene had wounded with her nails. It had been an odd feeling strangling her like that. It had been controlled and violent, he didn't want to hurt her. Instead he wanted to see her reaction, help him make sense of Lauren Attwater's bruising. The unintended effect had been that she had been pulled against his body, close to him. He couldn't avoid observations about her scent, how soft her skin and hair was nor the pleasing firmness of her body against his. That was the part that was broken about him; he could compartmentalize so thoroughly. He was attacking a woman and appreciating her womanliness in the same hard straining breathes.

Serene it appeared had forgiven him completely once she understood how it had opened his mind to the case. How convenient a companion she was proving to be, that Lestrade was romantically pursuing her could prove an inconvenient distraction. Sherlock did not want to vie for her attention, or have to deal with sulking when sentiment got the best of her. The seduction on her balcony made him question how committed to Lestrade she actually was. Although John and Mary had ended up well and he supposed it was immaterial how she spent her time when he did not need her.


	15. Chapter 15

Serene woke up in Graham's bed just as dawn was breaking passed the London skyline. At first nothing was out of sorts until she remembered she had quite adamantly fallen asleep on the sofa in the living room insisting Graham take his bed back. Now here she was tucked up in the lonely island of silk sheets and pillows with Graham nowhere in sight.

She tried to move soundlessly through the apartment, which wasn't hard given her bare feet on the smooth tile. She turned the corner into the living room and could see feet sticking out passed the sofa.

She found him asleep on the hard tile floor of the living room, the plush rug pushed almost entirely underneath the chrome and leather settee. She remembered this feeling after coming back from months on research trips. She wouldn't sleep in her bed for a week because it had seemed too soft or too warm. Graham had been living in strange quarters for a decade, no wonder that silly posh bed had been so unappealing to him.

She wonders who knows he is in London, how careful he has been about letting himself be seen.

His sudden return could not have come at a worse time; she feels the urge to protect him, but after everything she has been through she feels swallowed by a tide much larger than herself. She suspects she may need rescuing as much as he does. Yesterday had been revelatory. She had found Greg's world appealing, but Sherlock's world was addicting.

She didn't hold illusions about becoming a detective or leaving the soft padding of academia. This was a vacation of sorts, an adventure that hadn't felt real until she had seen Lauren Attwater in the mortuary. Now it felt too real, like the balance of the entire world was hanging on finding the murderer.

She shakes her head over Graham, banishing the ridiculous thought that had taken residence in her head. Graham rolled over in his sleep, making a low groaning noise. Her roiling thoughts were worming their way into his dreams. She should leave him to sleep.

Under the bandages her cuts itch; going to bed seemed an impossibility. She walks towards the bathroom unwinding the greyed strips of gauze from her arms. She throws them in the trash and exams the angry red cuts on her forearms. They were scabbed over and she decides not to redress them. Seeing them makes her feel more grounded in the work ahead of her. She showers and dresses slowly, waiting for the numb feeling in the pit of her stomach to wane. When it doesn't she knows where she must go.

It seems a dream when she is standing outside of 221 Baker street in the cold morning. She isn't sure the exact time; somehow that information slips from her mind every time she looks at a clock. Instead she is staring blindly up at the two-storey townhouse.

The sun warms slightly on her shoulders as she stands arms wrapped around herself, her breath escaping like steam from her nose and mouth as she shudders. The warmth reminds her she has been standing here awhile, not sure whether to go in or not. Unsure how Sherlock will greet her, what he will want from her.

Yesterday had been overwhelming; they had gone from the morgue to Scotland Yard. From Bakers street to the smallest nooks and crannies of London. Breaking into soda and cigarette machines trying to find pound coins that had the same words scratched into them. In their jimmying a can of soda had exploded, hence she had stolen one of Greg's shirts. She had kept it in fact; it was currently laying across the back of the sofa she had fallen asleep on.

All throughout the day Sherlock had been receiving texts of pictures of lavender fields. Each one had been wrong and had only fueled his fervor; he had shown the coin to a woman perched on a bench by the Thames. Given her a fifty-pound note and left her without saying a word. It was brilliant; half of London's change probably crossed their hands why not use that to their advantage.

Serene heard a door unlatch and small exclamation, she turned her head and saw the woman from yesterday standing on the steps of 221 Baker Street.

"Is Sherlock not answering the bell again, dear?"

Serene half-heartedly shrugs. She isn't sure she can explain why she hasn't let herself in.

"He's probably asleep, he was up pacing all night. Come in and have a cuppa, you look half frozen."

Serene nods but doesn't move. The woman walks down the steps and she feels warm, solid hands guiding her inside.

Serene feels herself settled into a squishy vinyl chair in the small kitchen of 221A Baker Street. The woman bustles around the kitchen, a placid smile on her face as she fills a kettle and sets it on the stove.

"I know that look, you know. When I met my husband I was in such a tizzy, I walked straight into a wall-"

Mrs. Hudson turns to share a laugh with the pretty brunette at her kitchenette. Instead she sees her staring into the formica of the table. She is pale and looks tired, poor girl. Sherlock should treat her better if he was going to meddle with her. She would have to have a word with him.

"Beans on toast, dear?"

"Sorry, what?" Serene looks up from her daze.

"You look a bit peaky. Little bit of breakfast will do you good, just this once though."

Serene thinks to refuse but her stomach growls in protest; she realizes she has not had a proper meal in a couple days. Since coming home she had been drifting between nibbling on biscuits and a little cold take away.

"Thank you, I've just gotten back from holiday so I have nothing in." Serene smiles as best she can, she feels she must justify her inability to take care of herself.

"I know how it is dear, you just sit and warm up."

There is silence then as Mrs. Hudson sets about making toast, opening a tin of beans and pouring hot water into the tea pot. Serene's mind whirs thinking about the last few days. The coin, the killer, and the women. "Magnuficentia sanguine" what did it tell her? What layers could she pull back from the engraving? What mechanism lay under this case?

"How do you take it?" Serene is pulled out of her reveries.

"Oh, milk and sugar s'il vous plait"

Tea and a plate of breakfast appear in front of Serene, and she gladly takes the warm mug in her hands. The woman sits opposite her with her own breakfast.

"There now, eat your breakfast then we can have a nice chin wag about Sherlock, hmm?"

Serene feels better for the sip of tea she manages before this woman makes her laugh.

"What about Sherlock?" This woman must be under the impression Sherlock and her are some sort of item.

Before the woman can continue there is the staccato of someone descending the stairs quickly.

"Mrs. Hudson? Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock bursts in the room.

"Sherlock, we have company." She sounds like a mother speaking to a little boy.

Sherlock's eyes sweep the room, taking in Serene's presence, but they focus on the toast in front of her.

"Ah you made breakfast, excellent. Extra butter on mine."

"I'm your land lady dear, I don't make you breakfast."

Sherlock takes a plate from the dish rack. He sits matter-of-factly between Mrs. Hudson and Serene. He takes a slice of toast off of Serene's plate and drops it on his. With his other hand he takes Serene's mug, taking a large swig of her tea.

"Milk." He wrinkles his nose.

"Really Sherlock, where are your manners?"

Mrs. Hudson gets up and begins making him his own tea. Sherlock flashes a pleased, conspirator's grin at Serene, she can't hold back her bark of laughter. He is so shocking sometimes, both the stoic poet and the mischief-maker.

Serene manages a large bite of beans on toast as Mrs. Hudson puts a mug of tea down heavily in front of Sherlock.

"I thought you didn't eat when you were on a case, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson sits back down across from them gesturing with her hands. "Such a fuss last time I brought around some nibbles for him and John. Knocked the tea tray right over."

Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and laughs batting with her hands as if to waft away the memory. Serene sneaks a look at Sherlock as she takes her next bite. He raises the breakfast as if toasting Mrs. Hudson.

"I have solved the case, so my stomach can digest away." With vigor he takes a bite, and follows it with tea.

Serene drops her toast, she feels as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped over her head. She can't find her tongue, or her thoughts.

"Well done, Sherlock. Now you two have time for a proper evening. There's always a play, my husband used to take me to a theatre when we were first married-"

"You solved it?" Serene shakes her head trying to disperse the disbelief she feels.

"Yes, but hardly a cause for celebration. Or subjecting ourselves to a panto."

"You hush, Sherlock. A woman likes to be treated to an evening every once in awhile. It would do you well to remember that." Mrs. Hudson begins clearing away their breakfast dishes. Sherlock's wolfed down, but Serene's sits half eaten.

"That's all then isn't it? Be sure to write. All the usual pleasantries."

Sherlock speaks quickly Serene senses his awkwardness. She would tease him if she could dispel the panic settling into her core. Sherlock gets up and gestures crisply towards the door. Serene gets up mechanically and begins to leave; she pauses and turns to Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you. You were very kind." Serene attempts to smile at her.

"I will see you again, my dear, I have a sense for these things" Mrs. Hudson nods knowingly as Serene drifts towards the door, Sherlock floating behind her.

She pauses at the door her hand on the latch she turns into him. He hadn't been expecting her to pause and their bodies are closer than he would have chosen. He feels her eyes burn into him as he looks at an uninteresting inch of door to her right. She was ashen this morning, her eyes far away. He can't justify the protective feeling coiling in his stomach or the way his fingers twitch when he thinks about touching her hair. Instead he finds his hand resting over top of hers on the latch.

"Do you require assistance?"

"You didn't solve it."

Sherlock's hand is warm over top of hers and he smells different today. He isn't wearing cologne, the soap that clings to his skin is fine but no replacement for the heady scent he was wearing yesterday. She likes this better, he feels naked in front of her. She wills him to look into her eyes.

"Do you need proof?"

"Usually"

He removes his hand from hers and steps back from the door. He gestures to the stairs up to his flat behind him, there is a challenge in the sweep of his arm. Serene senses false bravado she passes him her head held high. He had been trying to be rid of her. After their mad chase yesterday she had thought she had risen in his esteem, but now he seemed to be trying to trick her.

Sherlock follows Serene's swaying hips up the stairs. He would have preferred to bound them two at a time, but Serene was moving at a slow determined stride. She had sensed his earlier deception and now was prolonging the moment before all would be revealed. It hadn't been a lie exactly. He was farther than he was yesterday, but he had not yet chased down all the answers. Despite his earlier resolve to take Serene as assistant and remold her into a detective he had since abandoned the plan. He had hit upon an inconvenient truth while pacing in thought the evening before, that Serene's quick intellect was less useful to him if it cost him his connection to Scotland Yard. Lestrade had marked his territory with this woman, and no matter what her feelings were; he would not allow Sherlock to interfere. And Sherlock intended to interfere.

If he could be honest with himself, he felt an awkwardness at the thought of accepting Serene's forward attentions. However her relationship with Lestrade was developing it could only hinder his work. Sherlock considered taking over the role of sexual partner in order to keep Serene focused on the work ahead of them, but he would certainly lose Lestrade. He could not admit to himself that Serene might be a distraction to him. He was drawn to her mind and her body, which was inconvenient. What had woken him from his sleep on the sofa last night had been dreams of Serene. He had dreamt she materialized over top of him on the sofa, half waking him from sleep. Her was body immaterial, an illusion writhing on him and caressing him. Her kisses were not quite real, her hands ghosting over him but somehow driving him closer and closer to orgasm. He had woken sweaty and unsatisfied. Alone in his flat the adrenaline pumping through him he had attacked the case with an insatiable energy. The mere apparition of Serene had spurred this in him; he could not imagine what heights his mind could reach with the living, breathing woman.

She reaches his flat first and walks straight to the coffee table with its papers splayed out and its mug rings. Serene picks up one of the maps Sherlock had printed out looking at it intently. He follows her into the apartment hovering behind her; counting the seconds before his deception is revealed.

"What is wrong with the bed?"

"I prefer the sofa when I am working."

She hasn't looked up from the map and yet he knows she has cataloged the room already.

Serene drops the map and watches it as it slips itself among the other papers. She sits on the sofa where hours before he had dreamt he had made love to her. She holds her hands and looks up at him expectantly.

"Alright, solve it."

"I have solved it."

Serene doesn't say another word, she looks at him expectantly her hands open in a welcoming gesture. She wants him to continue. Sherlock is frustrated normally such a pronouncement would have been the end to it. Lestrade would nod and do whatever he asked. Instead this brunette with wide set eyes is challenging him and he suddenly wants to make her cry.

"First lets talk about your house guest." Sherlock watches with glee as Serene's shoulders stiffen. "As there aren't really work emergencies in Entomology I assume he returned home last night. He doesn't know that your proclivities have alerted the British government to who owns that lease. He won't last long, not with his resume-"

With impressive speed Serene rises from the sofa and is in front of him. Sherlock catches Serene's wrist as she arced her hand for what surely would have been a jaw cracking blow. He grips her wrist hard and she hisses as his palm digs into her scabs. They are a step away from being a tangle of limbs on the sofa.

Sherlock considers sending them backwards he steps closer to her, their hands raised between their bodies like a shield. His eyes trail from her eyes down her throat to the small triangle of flesh between her collar and her top button. He feels heat between them and Serene pulls back against him, challenging him.

There is the pounding of Mrs. Hudson ascending the stairs and Sherlock releases her wrist as if it burnt him.

"Sherlock, Sherlock" Mrs. Hudson lets out a little gasp as she comes into the room. "Sorry to disturb you dear, but Mr. Chatterjee is complaining about a certain... associate of yours. Can you go get him out from under the awning?"

Sherlock steps away from Serene straightening the front of his jacket. Serene feels herself breath easier, one of the homeless network had turned up something valuable. There was hope a new piece of the puzzle. She moves like a shot across the room her anger about Sherlock's threats to Graham and his safety was forgotten as she picked up the fresh scent. She takes the stairs two at a time Sherlock behind her his pace fluid like a dancer.

She sees the boy hanging just under the awning of the coffee shop, he seems too young to be homeless and her heart breaks as loudly as it thrills. She practically runs up to him.

"What have you found?" Serene begs him.

"Spare some change, Miss?" The boy looks blankly at her. His eyes sweep up behind her shoulder and the accompanying bang tells her Sherlock has made his way outside.

Serene digs in her pockets and pulls out a couple crumpled fivers. She thrusts them into his hand and the boy tucks them into his pockets nodding.

"Well?" Serene could shake him she is so frustrated. She feels Sherlock swagger up behind her and watch this quickly growing train wreck. "torrieu."

She takes out her wallet and hands the boy a twenty pound note. He merely shrugs and tucks the money in his pocket.

"How much money do you pay them?" Serene turns her head desperately to Sherlock.

He laughs at her his grin mischievous. He has been clever. He brushes passed her with a pleased bounce in his gait as he passes he whispers to her "You don't."

Sherlock positions himself in front of the boy deliberately.

"Spare some change, Mister?"

"Don't mind if I do." Sherlock snatches the piece of paper from between the boy's fingers.

He smugly snaps open the sheet as he walks passed Serene to hail a taxi. "I just know the password."

"What does it say?"

"Nothing important." Sherlock wrinkles his nose and shrugs his shoulders as the scrap of paper vanishes into his pocket. Serene walks towards him with her hand held out.

"I paid for it. Now give it to me."

"I think you'll find it was my fifty quid which began it all."

"What about all that?" Serene gestures hopelessly after the boy who had melted away once he had delivered his message to Sherlock.

"Charitable donation." Sherlock turns up the collar of his coat and steps to the curb to hail a cab. "Really must be going."

A black cab pulls up to the curb and Sherlock makes to get in. Instead he feels Serene's solid body thrown between him and the cab.

She slides into the back of the cab and pats the seat beside her. "Do join me Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock's eyes sweep across the street before following her into the cab.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: This is the last of my prewritten chapters, all updating will now be in real time. I am not sure how that will effect my updating schedule, but thanks again to anyone following this story. It means a lot to me._

The building before Serene bore a familiar name on the bronze plaque in front of the glassed in lobby. She finds herself standing on the street gawking up at the crystal spire. Sherlock stands close behind her while her eyes are pointed up his scan the street.

"Remaining impartial is key to my work." Sherlock's voice reverberates in her chest. Serene looks forward setting her shoulders this may be Graham's company but that didn't mean it involved him and she certainly didn't need Sherlock reminding her to keep her emotions in check.

"I don't know what you mean." Serene turns up the collar of her jacket and walks towards the lobby. Sherlock smiles, she was such a wasted opportunity. "Come along, Mr. Holmes."

Serene wasn't entirely sure where she needed to look but she wasn't going to allow Sherlock to lead her around all day. What did she know, in this moment, without him? That this building belonged to Graham's family company, this was where a homeless person had received an engraved pound coin and that meant most likely the owner of the coin worked in this building.

Serene pulled out her phone and opened the browser. She typed in the address of the building and 'employment'. Only one entry came up that was recent a law clerk for a firm on the sixth floor. She pockets the phone repeating the name over and over under her breath like a mantra as she enters the building.

She can see Sherlock following behind her on the security cameras behind the doorman's desk. She walks purposefully towards the bank of elevators hoping no one will stop her.

"Excuse me, miss, you have to sign in." The doorman's welcoming tone has an edge to it. Not directly confrontational, but annoyed.

"Of course, silly me." Serene puts on a large vacant smile and returns to the desk. "Big interview today I am so nervous."

The doorman nods and looks at her appreciatively. He glances at her name on the ledger. "Good luck ms. Laurent."

Serene beams up at him before continuing to the elevators. She catches the edge of the door just as it is about to close and finds herself alone in the elevator with Sherlock.

Serene tries to not look surprised by his presence, but he is grinning at her cheekily and she can't help herself.

"How did you get passed the doorman?"

"The benefit of a dark coat and a pretty companion." Sherlock responds matter-of-factly.

"Mr. Holmes, did you use me to sneak in here?"

"Quite effectively I might add." His grin becomes a full-fledged smile and Serene feels immediately buoyed for what they are about to do.

"Is this when we compare notes?" She looks at him through the corner of her eye.

"I prefer to not have redundant conversations."

"Then what happens when we get in there? What do we tell them? What's our story?" Serene's questions come in rapid fire and each one seems to make Sherlock's eyebrows creep higher. "You're looking at me like I have three heads."

Sherlock throws his hands behind his back, grabbing one wrist preparing to launch into a lecture.

"The more lies you tell the more you have to remember. A good detective should never have to tell a lie in the first place. A decent one shouldn't have to tell more than three; I knew the deceased, I was told to come here and I understand."

At that moment the elevator slowed and the doors opened. Sherlock stepped out and in one fluid motion pressed the button for the top floor. Before Serene could grasp what was happening she was on an elevator moving skywards towards the man she had feared this day had been driving her towards; Graham's brother.

Serene wonders what it is about large companies and glass walls. All the offices she passed looked more like fish bowls than boardrooms. Then of course her office at the university looked like a broom closet with a beetle fetish so she supposed she was no one to judge. It seemed like the interior decorator's way of saying "nothing to see, all above board in this office". She didn't know enough about Graham's company to know what kind of business they kept, but considering Graham's actions the last decade they probably had a lot to hide.

She got more than a few sidelong looks as she approached Liam's office, but the general apathy of the office worker kept her relatively unnoticed. If she had been thinking ahead this morning she would have dressed the part a little better. At least her shirtsleeves covered her scrapes; she nonchalantly tightened the scarf around her throat to hide the bruises on her neck. Liam's office was behind frosted glass panels and an imposing plaque announcing Graham's name and his position as CEO. Did Liam feel as much of a fraud in Graham's office as she felt in his apartment?

His secretary was beautiful, an unspoken job requirement at this level of industry. She smiled radiantly as Serene approached the desk but it never quite reached her eyes.

"Good Morning, how can I help you?" There was an edge to the woman's voice. Serene kept her voice low and intimate.

"Can you tell Liam his sister-in-law has been terribly rude and shown up without an appointment?" Serene winks at the poor befuddled secretary. Surely there is gossip about the CEO's whereabouts, his strange personal life and more importantly his lack of family. She had to give the woman credit her smile never faltered, just the tiniest of creases between her perfectly arched eyebrows.

She makes the move to pick up the phone, but thinks better of it. Smoothing her skirt she stands to go speak to her boss in person.

Serene watches like a shadow play as her vague silhouette moves in the office, a dark shape rustles in return. The light bends and warps around their bodies and Serene wonders how Liam is taking the news of a mystery woman's arrival. The slim dark shape that was the secretary grows as she approaches the door and Serene quickly organizes her features into a calm expectant look.

The secretary emerges with the same immovable smile, but the crease between her eyebrows reappears as she speaks.

"He says he always has a few moments for family."

"Thank you."

When she enters the office Liam is leaning on the front of his desk, his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed. His head is down, but he snaps up to look at her once she walks in the door. She visibly sees him relax as she enters. So he at least knows who stays in Graham's flat while he is away.

"Ah Dr. Laurent, I am relieved. I really thought my brother had gone and gotten married to some bush woman." He grins and his freckles wrinkle; it's almost enough to make Serene forgive his crude way of speaking.

"I'm sorry for the minor deception, but I couldn't think of an easy way to get your attention."

"I would have made time to meet with the beautiful woman living in my brother's flat. Forgive me for not coming to visit before, but I couldn't think of a reason beyond general curiosity." He is still leaning on his desk, relaxed, like a king. She hadn't considered how rich Graham had been growing up, but Liam exuded Oxford education and ski chalets.

"I'll remember that if I ever need you again."

"Do you need me now?" Liam's voice lowers to a sultry tone. Serene imagines he is the type to pinch waitresses' bottoms. She smiles and tries to flatten the thousand lies that spring to her mind. Sherlock had told her not to lie, but what was she supposed to say?

"I was told to come here." Sherlock's words come tumbling out of her mouth and Liam's look of shock makes her realize how that must sound. She corrects quickly. She can't out Graham if he has not yet come forward. "Not recently, of course."

"Of course, I would hope my brother would have enough filial duty in him to tell me he isn't dead personally." He laughs, but it is cold. Serene had never accounted for resentment on Liam's side. There is a small silence, but the air crackles with impatience. Don't lie, don't lie, don't lie. Serene repeats it to herself.

"I was attacked." She sees the surprise in Liam's face as she blurts out the first truth that comes to her mind. She rapidly loosens her scarf, tilting her head to show off the impressive bruise. "And I just, I uh. Oh gosh I am sorry this seems so silly, but I just need to get away from London for even just a night."

Liam looks perplexed as she stutters, but also concerned. "I am afraid I don't see the connection to me, Dr. Laurent. Not that I wouldn't love to help but-"

"I feel so awkward asking, your family has done so much for me already, but there are keys in the flat to a summer cottage and I was wondering if it would be a huge imposition-"

"Ah, say no more. My brother made it very clear every luxury in his life was to be afforded to you, and as I am stuck in London and he is otherwise disposed-"

"Oh thank you." Serene closes the distance between them. Trying to play the hopeless fawning woman as best she can. He extends his hand to her and she clasps it briefly before turning to leave.

"Don't you want directions?" Liam's voice makes her pause and she curses herself. This was a lie; she understood now why it was so dangerous.

"Yes, of course. So silly of me." Serene turns, grateful Liam is a stranger to her. A friend would have known exactly how unlike Serene this whole meeting was. Liam walks behind his desk and picks up a gleaming pen. He begins to sketch her a crude map Serene waits patiently on the other side of the table biting the inside of her cheek to stop the flow of lies and details she wants to pour into this silence.

As Liam rips the page off the pad of paper and hands it across the table to her he looks at her critically.

"You never told me why you were attacked." The paper is in the air between them, crisp and white. Serene smiles as she takes it and tucks it into her pocket.

"Wrong place at the wrong time, I guess."

She turns to leave desperate to get away from this strange unexpected meeting. She makes it all the way to the door before Liam's voice makes her pause again.

"Take care, Dr. Laurent"

Serene walks through the labyrinth of desks quickly, her eyes focused on the elevator. She wonders where Sherlock is in this endeavor. Out of the corner of her eye she sees a tall man pushing a mail cart. He has lost his long dark coat and his suit jacket, the sleeves of his lilac shirt rolled up to his elbows. Serene would recognize his gait anywhere. That's what he had been trying to tell her in the elevator; pretend like you belong wherever the case takes you. She curses her clumsy meeting with Liam as she seemed hadn't gotten even remotely closer to any important information.

She waits for Sherlock in a little coffee stand tucked into the lobby of the building. It affords her a convenient excuse to wait and an excellent vantage point to see and be seen. She turns the paper over and over in her hand feeling the richness of it. Even the scribble pad on Liam's desk was expensive. She traces the drawing with her finger, she has never seen Graham's writing but she wonders if they are similar. An irregularity in the surface of the paper catches her attention; the uniform glossiness was interrupted when she tilted it in the sunlight. Out of curiosity she lifts it to the light allowing sunlight to stream through the page. She very suddenly can't breath.

In the weave of the paper, only visible when backlit was an intricate circle with a simple lion design in the centre. A coat of arms or a seal, with the words "magnuficentia sanguine" curved around the symbol. A family motto? She had been living among Graham's things for two years and certainly never found anything like this. She feels panic writhe inside her it is obviously connected. They were at the source of something, but what? Was this farther spread than just this office? Could Liam be involved, he was too young to have started any of this. His father would have been the right age, his father who had died unexpectedly three years ago. She stuffs the paper in her pocket and stands quickly. She walks determinedly towards the door not caring that she is leaving Sherlock alone here. He had not wanted to bring her in the first place and he certainly wasn't relying on her.

Her panic drove her to the one place where she could seek closure on this case; she needed to speak to Graham directly. He would be exhausted from travel and still asleep in the apartment, hopefully. She felt numb as she made her way through the lobby of her apartment and placing her eye in front of the iris scanner. The elevator came to life and hummed upwards towards her apartment.

She opened the door slowly and creeps into her own apartment like a thief. She feels relief when she hears the shower running. She would have time to prepare herself before she has to speak to him. She finds herself apprehensively making tea for a strange man. She is staring at the kettle as the element heats up and the water begins to boil. In the back of her mind she hears the shower turn off and the unfamiliar rustling of another person in the apartment. She takes the kettle off the element and pours the steaming water into the teapot. She tries to calm the panic rising inside her. She hears the soft pad of his bare feet on the tile and knows she will see him again if she turns around.

"I never thought I would say this, but God bless the French." Graham's voice is warm and smooth, the way she remembered him speaking in the tents back at his camp. Her affection for him outweighs the panic and she whirls to look at him.

He is clean-shaven and his hair is damp. He is in one of his linen shirts and the khakis he wore everyday. Aside from the missing scruff he looks identical to two years ago.

"You never told me why you were back." Serene tries to smile, but she feels like the words still sound accusatory.

"Well you were so eager to get me tucked into bed, we didn't talk much." Graham was ever the cheeky pirate.

"You were falling asleep on your feet." Serene picks up the tea tray and walks towards the living room. "Lets talk now."

Graham walks to the plush living room and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. Serene pauses with the tray when she sees him; surrounded by 1000s of dollars worth of furniture and he plonks down on the rug. Smiling she sets the tray down on the coffee table and sits on the floor across from him.

She watches him carefully prepare his tea, milk first, pouring the hot tea over top and finally stirring a teaspoon of sugar in quickly. He inhales deeply, smelling homemade English tea for the first time in a decade. He closes his eyes as he takes a first scalding sip.

"Good?" Serene tries not to laugh at him, but a small smile won't leave her face. She hadn't realized she had missed him until now.

Graham nods and places the back in the saucer. "Well, we did build an empire on the stuff."

"Oh how the mighty have fallen."

"Well someone keeps bringing unions to their over seas factories and damaging their rigs."

Serene gives him a sad look, he was a man of many principles but his actions were poorly thought out. He looks at her and nods.

"You don't need to say it, Rini. I know I am fool for trying to come back."

"Why are you back, Graham?" She has been neglecting her own tea. She begins busying herself trying to think of a way to ask about Liam.

"My last Will and Testament, actually. I am hoping to be here long enough to sort that out."

"They have phones now. You're risking your life for some paperwork?"

"I need to know my estate is settled without any chance of contention."

"I am sure no one will contest such a generous donation to charity."

"That's the thing, Rini, it isn't going to charity. Not anymore. I-" Graham pauses his smile is broad, but there is sadness in his eyes. "- have a daughter to think of now."

Serene is shocked, she hears her cup clatter on her plate, but she doesn't even remember picking it up.

"Graham-"

"Well not just a daughter really, a wife as well. I insisted we make it legal, above board in every way. Flew to Greece when she was 6 months along, met my lawyer there."

Serene doesn't know what to say, she feels her mouth hanging open and she is helpless to do anything but look at him. Graham looked shyly into his tea, tipping the liquid from side to side. His smile is slightly proud, but mostly sheepish.

"I know it is ridiculous, I really do. They're both so perfect, they've changed everything."

Serene finally finds her tongue, "it's not ridiculous." She reaches for him and they simply hold hands across the table for a long moment.

"Enough about me, I'm a lost cause. Tell me about you, Rini. How has London been treating you?"

The question is a loaded one; Graham can see as plain as day the scrapes and bruises. She hesitates about how much she can bear to tell him; her as yet undefined adoration of a Scotland Yard detective, facing a mad man in an alley, the fact her stupid impulse to seduce Sherlock Holmes had exposed his fortress to the inquiries of a strange silent man.

"Quite poorly of late." The unmistakable baritone of Sherlock Holmes cut through the air like a knife. Serene felt her heart stop and Graham immediately stood on the defensive. Serene's brain finally kicks into gear and she stumbles forward to close the curtains, pulling Sherlock all the way into the apartment from the balcony.

"How did you get in here?" Serene demands as she slams the balcony shut and closes the last curtain. "Graham, you have to leave."

"Who is this toff?" Graham still looks ready to tackle Sherlock.

"Bit of a pot/kettle assessment, don't you think?" Sherlock raises his eyebrows at Graham's insult. He holds up a set of spare keys, dangling them across his palm like a prize. "You asked me to find your matches remember, it was practically an invitation."

Sherlock pockets the keys and extends his hand to Graham, "Sherlock Holmes."

"Holmes, eh? I knew a man named Holmes." Graham eyes him suspiciously.

"I've met your brother as well, or rather Dr. Laurent did. I was otherwise engaged." He turns his attention to Serene. "Or have you not gotten to that bit?"

"Graham, I was going to tell you everything. I will just please you have to leave." Serene looks pleadingly at her friend. His hackles are still up, but his attention is fixed entirely on Sherlock. She grunts in frustration and walks to her coat. She pulls out the folded piece of paper and steps between the men's staring contest.

"Just here, take it and leave." She hands the paper to Sherlock assuming all he wanted was his stolen clue. He takes it but his eyes lock onto her, she feel exposed by their intensity.

"You should have waited for me." Sherlock's voice is stern, pedantic almost. Serene swallows hard gulping down the desire to tell him to piss off.

"Every second you are here Graham is in more danger."

"Only a fool would think he could hide in his own home." Sherlock's gaze finally turns away from Serene. "You're even more of a fool if you think my brother will come put an end to you in person. He'll send a nameless MOD man, there will be no deal making. Nothing you have could be worth trading."

Graham's fists clench and unclench but he sits down again slowly. "Perhaps you are the one to make the deal on my behalf, Mr. Holmes."

"You over estimate my brother's affection for my opinion." Sherlock shrugs off his Belstaff and lays it over top of the sofa. He sits opposite Graham and contemplates him.

There is a terse moment as the two men sit opposite each other. In her time at Graham's camp Serene had become used to these meetings. Sharply dressed men trekking through the wilderness to make their plea to Graham. He would sit as he did now, silently contemplating them, watching them sweat into their linen. Sherlock wasn't sweating, nor was he in need of Graham's assistance.

"You have an advantage over me, Mr. Holmes, in that you know your brother's mind. Tell me why you went to see Liam and perhaps we can each be of service."

Sherlock doesn't make him an answer, Serene watches his fingers twitch slightly and she thinks of his violin back in Baker Street. Instead he leans forward and takes her cooling tea from the table.

He takes a sip and wrinkles his nose. "Sugar." He places the tea down again and instead steeples his hands. He is considering whether or not to take on Graham as a responsibility.

Graham has been still as a portrait as Sherlock fiddles; between the two of them Serene feels ready to burst.

Finally Sherlock removes the paper from his pocket, he is not sure what about Serene's meeting with Liam had sent her dashing back here, but as this piece of paper was what she had given him to leave, it must be important. He tilts the paper briefly before bringing it up to the light. The value of this clue is suddenly clear. He hands the paper to Graham, who takes it nodding.

"Directions to the summer house?" He barely glances at it knowing the way so intimately that the map is immediately obvious.

"I am more interested in the water mark, family motto?" Sherlock's eyes focus intently on Graham, Serene has been the recipient of this stare and she is impressed by the way Graham ignores it.

"You've been away for more than a decade, what makes you think you know your brother better than a stranger? Like I said, you have nothing of value to trade." As Sherlock speaks Graham holds the paper to the light his fingers tracing the curve of the crest.

"I thought I was the last one." Serene feels her blood run cold as Graham speaks, wistfully almost. He reaches into his shirt and pulls out a long chain. Dangling at the end is pound coin. Unlike the coin they had taken from the man's pockets this coin did not shine, it was old and worn. "Those words, Mr. Holmes, were enough to drive young man into the jungle for a decade."

"You still wear it?" Serene's voice is barely a whisper. She is in shock; she had never considered Graham would have all the answers.

"Believe it or not this coin is my greatest protection. Proof of a lineage that whether or not I trust it, is too powerful to disregard. I had thought I had saved my brother from inheriting this madness by disappearing, but apparently the wheel continued without me. Is this of value to you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Potentially not as valuable as the story behind it." Graham lets the coin drop against his shirt and leans forward on his knees.

"Then you can tell your brother I want amnesty for me, my wife and my daughter. For that I would trade anything in the world."

Sherlock stands and pulls on his coat. "I can tell my brother many things, I seldom have his sympathy. I hope you live long enough to help the case again."

Sherlock begins to leave, Serene following behind him. He stops short before the door and catches her off guard. His voice is a hushed intimate whisper. "Baker Street is a reliable place to come if you are ever in need, Dr. Laurent."

With Sherlock gone the silence seems to stretch between Serene and Graham. Finally Graham stoops to pick up the tea tray.

"I don't think your friend likes my chances." He carries the tray through to the kitchen.

"I don't like your chances." Serene sits on the arm of the sofa watching the swaying chain around Graham's neck.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N I feel a little silly posting this chapter, I haven't quite adjusted to the idea of writing smut for people to read. You'd think I would be desensitized by this point given the number of hours I've spent reading M-rated Sherlolly. I've had a lovely review since the last chapter and some new followers. All of which is very appreciated, thank you for sticking with me._

Lestrade had been distracted all day torn between this not-quite a case with Sherlock and thoughts of Serene. The image of Serene, mostly naked, clung to him in embarrassing detail during conversations with department heads and desk sergeants. All day he had deleted half written texts and hovered his thumb over her contact name. He wanted to hear from her, to know everything was okay between them. If he was honest he wanted to beg forgiveness for being inadequate, for having nothing to offer her than an aging investigator consumed by his work and at the mercy of the man whose brilliance he feared as much as he coveted it. He had been ignoring Sherlock all day. Everything the consulting detective had said seemed possible, at midnight standing in Sherlock's flat, but now with the paperwork in front of him everything had faded to impenetrable grey.

He had been to see Molly Hooper about the autopsies; she had awkwardly danced around the topic of Sherlock's visit. Lestrade's pulse had rushed in his ears when she had asked whether "Sherlock's Girlfriend" had recovered. Molly had looked so relieved when Lestrade had said Dr. Laurent was only a fellow consultant on the case.

She had seemed mildly confused when he had inquired about the blood tests. Of course Sherlock had been fibbing, but what the git failed to appreciate is now Lestrade had nothing on which to base any further investigation. He had ordered them of course, but now there was nothing he could do but paw through paperwork until the wee hours and hope that the two people on whom he had relied so thoroughly the last couple years were wrong. His eyes burned, but he was glued to his chair. He didn't want to go home where his sheets smelled like Serene. The book she had been reading was still open on his coffee table and the cushions on his couch were rumpled and strewn about. She had been in his apartment for all of 30 minutes and she had turned his life upside down.

The door clicked shut and Serene was standing in front of him as if she had been plucked from his imagination. Well not entirely from his imagination; the Serene in his imagination was flushed, her hair wild and she was mostly naked. Serene as she was now looked pale and tired, her old oxford shirt hung off her and the sleeves were rolled to her elbow. She was wearing a scarf again. She leaned against the door in silence, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her, and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Lestrade willed his body to move, he felt like lead as he looked at her. He felt guilt trickle down his body and settle below his stomach; this was the result of their involvement, cuts and bruises. She looked scared and he didn't know what to do.

Serene, after leaving Graham had tried desperately to let go of the events of the last few days. She had taken her work back to her office and had tried to organize her thoughts while tucking away specimens. She had emails from graduate students to answer and a new lecture to compose. Nothing held her attention for long. Foremost in her thoughts was an aching longing to see Greg. Unable to resist any longer she had come to his office knowing he would be here. Now standing in front of him she wondered what she could even say. Her every action since the alley had been a betrayal to him; stealing from the evidence locker, hiding away Britian's most wanted in her flat, even something as silly as flirting with Sherlock Holmes. She didn't deserve his devotion no more than she was able to deny him. She stared at him and willed him to know all of her sins, to ask her point blank to admit to every transgression against him. Instead he looked at her as lost as she felt.

Somehow they met in front of his desk Lestrade a block of lead leaning on the edge of the press board and Serene floating miles above him. He took her hand in his, their palms facing the ceiling. Gently with his other hand he ran his knuckles down her arm, ghosting over the cuts and bruises and brushing the soft skin in between. Serene, her eyes focused on the third button of his shirt, shivered and her breath hitched in the back of her throat like a sob. Lestrade's heart was hammering against his chest and he felt himself weigh on the desk more heavily. He felt disturbed being so aroused by her vulnerability, to the way she responded to his touch, but the aching inside him told him to push forward, that this was solace for them both.

Greg's hand felt so warm over hers, his touch made her feel like a raw nerve somewhere between laughing and sobbing. His thumb began making deliberate circles in the palm of her hand, every once in awhile it would break away slowly tracing between her fingers. She closed her eyes and focused on the intensely intimate sensation of his thumb moving between her fingers. Her breathing grew shallow and the warm liquid sensation of arousal began to pool beneath her stomach, just her hand in his and she felt herself threatening to shake apart.

When his hand slipped up to circle her wrist she felt herself completely in his control, she gave herself, eyes closed, to whatever Greg's strong, purposeful hands asked of her. She felt the pressure on her wrist of him drawing her closer and she let herself be guided against him, between the two sturdy masts of his legs.

Lestrade wanted Serene to open her eyes, he wanted to know she had persevered through the insanity of the last few days. He cradled her face and he felt her leaning into his palm. He stood and turned them, settling her against the desk. He placed his hands over hers.

"Keep still." He whispered into her hair. Serene nodded her eyes fluttering briefly to look at him.

Lestrade walked to door locking it and closing the blinds to his little window. He returned to Serene looking small on his desk. Reaching behind her he clicked the desk lamp off completing the darkness. They weren't entirely alone in Scotland Yard, it was a 24-hour sort of operation, but with the door locked and the lights off they would be alone enough.

Now wasn't the time for conversation in this strange half world where they were floating; not quite lovers, the case not quite closed. In the darkness he could hear her breathing, soft and shallow.

He felt her hands on his chest, picking at his top button. He took them in his own and placed them on the desk again.

"Keep still." He repeated himself, and Serene's breath hitched. Serene gripped the edge of the desk, willing her hands to stay in place. She trusted him and she always had trusted him, but the events of the last few days had deepened that trust, changed it from the theoretical to something tested. He had killed for her, and she knew that would weigh on him.

Lestrade didn't have a clear picture of how this night would go; his office wasn't conducive to any sort of lovemaking. The chairs were narrow, the carpet was probably filthy and frankly he didn't trust his desk to take the weight of his files. He was forcing himself to go slow, to think this through. He pulled the scarf from her neck, dropping it on the desk and kissed the stained flesh from her ear to her collarbone. The smell of her perfume faded from the day mixing in with her sweat made him ache for her. His hands were clumsy as they slowly worked the buttons of her shirt. He managed and his hands slipped under the fabric caressing her sides, holding her as his mouth returned to her neck.

"This is no substitute for talking, Greg." Serene's voice was throaty and low, it caught him somewhere in his chest. He answers her softly, his voice a whisper in her ear.

"I can't talk with you about the case, it's a conflict of interest to even be here with you."

Serene moves her hands over his; she holds them over her heart. "Should I leave?"

"I told you to keep still." Serene laughs as Greg returns her hands to the desk rubbing his stubble into the crook of her neck.

"Why would you want that?"

Greg cups her chin in his hand looking down at her with a crooked smile. "I am desperately trying to plot out a way to make love to you without breaking myself or the desk. And I can't have any distractions." He kisses her lips to punctuate each sentence. Serene smiles, she had pictured them in this office many times. It felt right that this would be how they finally let go together, but stillness did not come naturally to her and as Greg touched and kissed her it became an impossible task. She slipped off her shoes.

"Detective Inspector, you have underestimated how distracting I can be with my hands on the desk."

Serene slid her leg between his, rubbing against him, her foot flexing. Lestrade groans and steps even closer to her. She stands, pushing against him, enjoying the intrinsic sensual feeling of two bodies being pressed against each other. She turns her head to him; she kisses along his jaw line before quickly sucking his earlobe letting him feel her teeth. Lestrade's hands grab her roughly by the hips pulling her against him, grinding himself into her. She bites his ear and she is rewarded as his hands tighten and he swears under his breath. "Besides, desperation is the mother of invention."

Lestrade pushes her open shirt off of her exposing her shoulders to his teeth. He mutters into her shoulder "You'll find necessity is the mother."

Serene revels in the feeling of her naked skin against the smooth fabric of his suit, the rebel in her deeply satisfied by the forbidden nature of their tryst. She turns around, trapped between the desk and his body; she leans against him as she undoes the buttons on her jeans. She bends slightly shoving the denim down her legs, pressing her backside into his groin.

"Whoever, il à peu d'importance"

"God help me if you keep that French up."

Serene looks over her shoulder at him, her nose wrinkles. "I am French."

Lestrade runs a finger down her spine, making her shiver. His hands move around her waist pulling her against him, he slips his hand lower under the blue lace of her knickers. Serene hums with pleasure, raising her arms to wrap around his neck her hand running through his short-cropped hair. They stand there wrapped around each other savouring the feeling of the other. Serene wished she could live in this moment, delightfully on the edge of orgasm with nothing but Lestrade in the darkness.

They are interrupted by the thrum of a vibrating phone, illuminating the darkness from Lestrade's desk. Lestrade releases her, frozen in the light of his mobile with his hands on her hips. Serene turns in his arms to face him, she kisses him gently.

"What is it?" Her voice is barely a whisper and her heart feels as if it wants to beat out of her chest. Greg's focus is so thoroughly fixated on his mobile; she knows there are only a handful of people who would deserve such a reaction. Sherlock wouldn't call; it was too late for one of his superiors. Leaving only one viable option, the most inopportune disturbance.

Lestrade looks away from the phone as the vibration dies off, he hangs his head.

"That's- that's Kath's ringer." Lestrade hates the way her pet name comes so easily to his lips, he hates the way he immediately feels awash in betrayal and worse guilt when he hears his mobile. How many times had she done this to him, been wrapped around another man in the dark while he rang through to her voicemail? It was different of course he was divorced now. Why was she calling? Why now of all times?

While he was transfixed watching the voicemail notification pop up on his screen Serene had pulled her jeans up and shrugged back into her shirt. She takes his hand and he looks into her warm understanding eyes, taking in her sad smile. To his shock and undeniable arousal she pops his fingers into her mouth and sucks the taste of herself from him. She kisses his cheek as to his unending frustration his phone lights up again.

"Answer it." Serene takes the mobile and hands it to him. She looks away as he picks up the call.

"What is it?" Lestrade practically barks into the phone. There is a pause while she answers. "Well then call the police- yes right I know, Kath, but it isn't my division. Call the locals. - Kath? Katherine?"

Lestrade looks at his phone in confusion. The call was still ticking up minutes, but he could no longer hear her. "Katherine?" He shouts down the phone one more time in desperation.

Serene looks shocked. "What's happening?"

"I don't know I have to- I need to go." Greg falls into his officer's gait. He walks purposefully to his coat, shrugging into it as he dials the phone. "Yes, hello Detective Inspector Lestrade I am going to give you an address I need you to send a car immediately-"

He walks over to Serene as the desk sergeant shuffles papers on the other end of the phone. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "I'm sorry later, I promise."

He leaves Serene alone in the dark as he gives his ex-wife's address to the sergeant on the phone.


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N Had this scene sort of stuck in my head, so I thought I would get it out there asap. Strange how that makes you feel better._

Lestrade was beginning to wonder if he had some sort of curse following him, romantically. It had been months since Katherine had called him; last time it had been some minor dispute about the insurance on the house or the car. Something ridiculous he had forgotten as soon as he had rung off. Now he was getting mad calls in the middle of the night about some prowler setting off the automatic lights. He wondered where her P.E. teacher boyfriend was in all this, seemed like he should be the one dashing off into the night. He'd be lucky if Serene ever spoke to him again. Running off to see Sherlock was one thing, but leaving her half naked in his office because his ex-wife had called was frankly too pathetic to be forgiven. He should be forced to wear a sign "Gregory Lestrade- the Amazing Spineless Man". A small voice in the back of his head reminded him how she had gone silent, that maybe just maybe something was terribly wrong. He would never be able to forgive himself if that was the case.

He turned onto his old street and he saw the whirling lights of several police cars. He felt an odd sense of calm intermingled with the concern he felt for Katherine. At least he wasn't a complete fool for trusting his gut. He parks opposite the familiar townhouse and walks towards the police tape. A sergeant tries to waylay him, but he flashes the badge and keeps walking looking for the lead.

He quickly picks out the slight build of DI Dimmock. He walks across the small patch of grass that constituted a lawn in London in about three steps.

"Right, what am I walking into?" Lestrade mirrors Dimmock's posture; hands on hips, action ready.

Dimmock turns and nods dismissing the two officers he was talking to. "Your wife's unharmed, Lestrade."

"Ex-Wife." He corrects Dimmock firmly, last thing he needs is an office rumor about him having his pick of the consultants on the side while his wife is at home.

"Whatever you say, mate. She's a little rattled, been asking for you."

"Well there's a first time for everything. She inside?"

"Yeah, the sergeants will let you through. They know whose house this is."

"Was." Lestrade heads back towards the house he never thought he would have cause to enter again.

He was reminded of the late hour when he saw Katherine sitting on the couch, weeping into a box of tissues in a silk nightie. It was white and stretched almost to transparent over her breasts; she was covered in a matching robe. The woman he went to bed with every night had certainly never looked like this; her blonde hair had been dyed to a lighter more youthful shade. It was braided in the familiar way and Lestrade strongly suspected up until the police arrived she had been in one of the sturdy cotton nightgowns he remembered. Explains why she hadn't called the PE teacher. He leaned awkwardly in the doorway not sure what to say.

"Right, all sorted then Kath?"

Katherine looked up at him slightly bewildered and began sobbing again. "All sorted? For Christ's sake Greg, is that all you have to say to me? I find a body in my back garden and you want to know if I'm all sorted?"

"Right, yeah, no of course I meant are you all right?" Lestrade felt like a pratt, he cursed Dimmock for letting him go in blind. At least he could take comfort in knowing that he was still an awkward mess around Katherine. How was it that he could keep his head around a sultry French doctor, but a reformed tart from Brixton still made him trip over his feet? He used to think it was because he was madly in love with her, but now thirty years down the road he suspected it was just masochistic compulsion.

"No I am not all right. What took you so long?"

"I was at the Yard, it's not exactly a short trip."

"Why didn't you pick up the first time I rang?"

Lestrade opened his mouth to defend himself when Dimmock came into the hallway. Lestrade turned and ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, he felt like tonight was going to be nearly impossible to get through without causing some sort of scene for the whole of the Metropolitan Police. Dimmock paused as he walked into the living room; he looked from Katherine to Lestrade. Dimmock quirked his head and looked at Lestrade in profile.

"Is that lipstick on your ear?" Dimmock's tone was slightly congratulatory, but Lestrade could feel Katherine's icy gaze as he hastily rubbed his earlobe.

"Nah, probably just Brown sauce."

"Anyway, we've called in an expert to examine the remains. We just have a few questions for you Mrs. Lestrade, then we'll all clear out as soon as possible."

"Expert? Not Holmes?" The idea of Sherlock Holmes walking around his old house, talking to his ex-wife made Lestrade feel slightly ill.

Dimmock turns away and leans into Lestrade whispering as if to shelter Katherine.

"Not Holmes. Decomp was pretty far along, we called in that fit French one. Should make the night go faster." Dimmock winked and Lestrade felt like decking the man. The territorial impulse was soon replaced with equal panic, the only person he wanted here less that Sherlock Holmes was Serene.

Dimmock joined Katherine on the couch; she leaned into him letting her robe slip open slightly. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"I'm just going to take a look outside."

"This is my scene Lestrade."

"Right, of course. Just couldn't hurt to have a second set of eyes."

Lestrade walks out onto the back lawn and he sees police lights surrounding a figure crouched on the ground. She holds the sheet above her head, shining a torch. Lestrade lets the door bang behind him and Serene looks over her shoulder. She straightens slowly and walks uncertainly towards him. They meet in the middle of the small back garden, they hover nervously Serene's arms wrapped around her middle.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't think of a reason to say no" Serene breaks the silence, she looks at the ground as she speaks.

"It's fine. I understand, yeah." Lestrade watches as she shifts side to side. "Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?"

Serene laughs and looks at him "That would definitely start some rumors. How's your wife?" Serene's eyes flick up to look into the house behind him. Lestrade steps closer, he tips her chin so she looks into his eyes.

"Ex-wife."

Dimmock comes out behind, Lestrade drops his hand when he hears the door.

"Dr. Laurent you've arrived... and Lestrade you're still here."

"Good evening, Detective Inspector. I've just had a cursory look, I have some thoughts."

Serene walks back purposefully back to the lights. Lestrade can't help but watch her transfixed as her hips sway. She was truly a magnificent woman with nerves of steel if this body was as horrific as Katherine was making it seem.

"That would be the butty then, Lestrade? Got to say I can't fault your taste in bacon."

"You quite finished, Dimmock?"

Dimmock walks passed him following Serene. "And your wife's a bit of a tart."

"Ex-wife." Lestrade spits out after him.

He joins Dimmock and Serene beside the sheet.

"We are going to take a look at the body then?" Lestrade nods at the sheet on the ground.

"Just an arm, really." Dimmock sucks his teeth.

"An arm?"

Serene pulls back the sheet and reveals an arm laying on the ground, the tendons stringy and bare, the flesh rotted off.

"What can you tell us?" Lestrade asks her, Dimmock gives him the side eye.

"Obviously the decay is advanced, evidence of several different larvae. No apparent animal activity-"

Serene leans forward, holding her hair back. She inhales deeply.

"Not only was she placed here, but I would say she was exhumed from a proper grave."

"Did you have to smell it?" Lestrade wrinkles his nose.

"Pine. Very telling. Can I borrow your pen?" Serene smiles sweetly at the detectives. They both hold out a pen to her. "Oh, merci."

Using the pen she carefully uncurls the fingers of the hand. Stuck into the rotting flesh of the hand was a pound coin.

"Greg." Serene feels ice cold fear run from her heart to her stomach.

"Bloody hell." Lestrade curses as he paces away and back again.

"Is that a pound coin?" Dimmock leans in, one step behind Serene and Lestrade.

"Call Sherlock, this case has just been officially re-opened."


	19. Chapter 19

John Watson yawned loudly in the back of taxicab as it turned its way through London's streets.

"Remind me why I'm coming again?" John rubs his eye emphatically.

"Lestrade called; remains linked to the Alley Strangler case have turned up at his former wife's home. Apparently Dimmock has been assigned the case."

"Dimmock, he's the, I don't know, the-" John scrunches his face curling his lip to show his front teeth. "That one?"

"Weasel?"

"That's the one, the weasel detective."

"Yes, pity Lestrade can't take over. Conflict of interest given his wife was targeted."

"Then why are you going if Lestrade isn't on the case?"

"On the books he's hired me privately to investigate the threat to his wife."

"And off the books?"

"He wants me on the case and Dimmock's a weasel."

"So why do you need me?"

"Dr. Laurent is out too, given she was attacked by our not so dead serial killer. I need a doctor's opinion."

There is a silence in the cab as John nods he looks out the window. After a moment he looks at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. He is looking forward his fingers drumming intently on his leg.

"Listen. Be a mate tonight."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean, Sherlock, no matter what you deduce about his ex-wife or the house or anything that happened between them, just keep it to yourself. What's done is done."

"Regardless of how infinite you think my powers of observation are it is a finite skill. I can't see into the past, anything I observe would merely be to help Lestrade."

"But it's not helping, it's upsetting to people, normal people. Just trust me if it's not about the case I am sure he doesn't want to know."

"I will endeavour to keep my deductions to myself."

"Thank you."

"What if I deduce something relevant to the case should I say something then?"

"Oh come off it don't sulk, you know how you can be about people and their relationships. If it weren't for you dallying the doctor on the balcony I would have thought you were immune to them."

"I didn't dally her, I merely followed a course of action to the logical conclusion."

"Whatever you want to call it, just be nice."

"I don't do nice." Sherlock Holmes mutters under his breath turning to look out the window as the streets go by. Empirically, he knew what John was trying to say, people rarely wanted to hear the truths they wore plainly for the world to see. He resented that John felt the need to tell him to leave Lestrade alone. As if he should find the crumbling marriage of a colleague to be in anyway worth the effort of deduction. He felt assured that anything that had transpired in the Lestrade home up until this evening had been numbingly boring.

Lestrade had had enough of this case; not only would Katherine not stopped sobbing about in that ridiculous nightie, but Dimmock, Serene and Sherlock were all currently in his home to witness it. At least he was off duty he thought as he opened the cupboards in the kitchen. Rows of shining pots, pans and appliances greeted him at every turn; nothing seemed to be where he remembered it. Finally after opening the last cupboard he felt around in the darkness for the bottle of whiskey he knew he'd left when packing his small suitcase to leave.

"Looking for something, Greg?" Lestrade straightened up at the sound of a woman's voice, but his heart quickly returned to normal when he realized it was Serene.

"Thought I'd have a spot of tea." He says tilting the bottle of whiskey at her appealingly.

Serene smiles at him and begins closing the cupboards around him. "Tu n'es pas un bon voleur."

Greg smiles cheekily. "I'll drink to that, whatever it was." He decides to be spiteful and tip 3 fingers of whiskey into Katherine's favourite mug. He takes a sip feeling the fire down his throat and settle around his belly before handing the mug to Serene.

He watches her drink leaning against the counter in his kitchen and it all feels surreal.

"I never thought you would see this place."

Serene raises an eyebrow as she passes the mug back to him. "You weren't going to bring me to Christmas?"

"You go to Turkey for Christmas." Lestrade interjects as if that was the reason; in reality he was barely welcome here now.

"I figured Turkey would be off the table now." Serene says with a smile she only half feels, with so many things unspoken between, to speak out loud her fears of being held to one place, to one man feels like a sacrilege.

Greg steps towards her, his face more serious and concerned than she has ever seen him. He cannot bring himself to touch her, but his voice when he speaks is earnest. "It is not my intention, Serene, to hold you somewhere you would be unhappy."

She cannot look at him, but instead lays a reassuring hand on his lapel, the one affectionate gesture she had allowed herself for so long. "Another night we will discuss this."

Lestrade loves her soft lilting voice; the way her accent bleeds through when she is alone with him. He covers her hand with his, pressing it to his heart. Their eyes meet for a brief second and Serene feels a wave crash over her.

The moment is broken by a very real crash outside.

"Sounds like Sherlock's gotten into the bins." Greg takes a long swig of whiskey before walking languidly to peer out the back door. Serene joins him on the step and they watch the pantomime of Sherlock digging through the bins and Dimmock desperately trying to control the scene. "You know it's sort of relaxing not being the one who has to take care of him. It's like a vacation."

Serene steals the mug off Greg, before he can finish it and takes a drink. "He's looking for the gloves."

Lestrade, confident all eyes are on Sherlock, tucks Serene against him in the cold night air. "Listen, if there is something you or Sherlock are keeping from me I need to know. Give me a chance to know what we are dealing with."

Serene takes a quick breath in and breathes out slowly, Lestrade's question is a difficult one. Telling him about Liam would mean telling him about Graham, and the information although it seemed damning could ultimately be meaningless. Then where was she? She would be the cause of Graham's arrest only to find that Liam was ultimately uninvolved.

Before she can answer there are footsteps in the kitchen and a slight disgruntled cough. Serene's mind makes a quick mental survey of their position her side is melded to his and his hand on her hip, thumb making lazy circles on the skin above her belt. Very intimate and very unprofessional. She knew by the stiffening of Greg's spine that Katherine had come into the kitchen. She had caught a glimpse of the woman earlier, Greg had been looking down at her as she sobbed, and he looked uncomfortable. Serene had been prepared to hate the woman on sight; instead she had felt nothing more than a profound sadness. Katherine was clearly lonely and beyond her loneliness was the bitterness of disappointed hopes.

Serene had considered not responding to the summons of DI Dimmock. She had hoped it had not been Greg's address he was inviting her to, but Dimmock had clearly tried to sweeten the pot for her when he told her it was Lestrade's wife. Had the whole department known of their friendship? She had flaunted their closeness, challenging Greg's sense of propriety whenever he called her to the field. It had all seemed less precious before they had crossed that final line. She vowed to look only at the remains, to float above it all and keep her mind peacefully blank about Greg's former life. She had only been lying to herself. She had come in from the cold, head spinning from the message left for them and had immediately begun cataloguing the room in front of her.

When her father had left it had not been a slow mournful process of removing him from the house. Her grandfather had torn through in a fury changing out photos and throwing out keepsakes. It had been all that she could do to smuggle a handkerchief stuffed into a half finished pack of cigarettes. Years later, after another disappointing attempt to reconnect she had thrown it in a sewer, but that final destruction had been on her own terms. She knew well then the small signs of person scrubbed from a home; the vibrant halos around rehung picture frames, the awkwardly spaced knick-knacks, and the strange lopsided arrangement of the hall closet.

She saw no evidence of change with Greg's removal two years ago. He had been absent much longer than that, always in the office, chasing the bad guy or sitting in the pub. She felt an ache for Katherine; she understood the desire to fill emptiness and disappointment with passion. She had hurt Greg, but he had hurt her in return. Greg was still the man who didn't let go, who didn't give up even when it was drowning you both. That had been what held her back for so long, knowing that Lestrade was both the fever and the sickness. He made her burn, but he would invade her every cell. Only facing death had made her plunge into unknown and already she felt lost over it.

Lestrade stiffened and released Serene, feeling cold where her body had left him. Katherine was staring daggers at him and he wet his lips trying to maintain eye contact. He steps into the kitchen and slides the mug behind the toaster.

"Hey Kath, I thought you had gone to bed."

Katherine pushes between the counter and him, retrieving her mug. She silently rinses it out and puts it in the dishwasher, her narrowed eyes never leaving him and her mouth a tight line.

"The fool detective woke me up crashing around in the bins." When she does speak it is with barely contained rage.

"Holmes doesn't do anything quietly."

"I don't know why you brought him."

"Well, bin banging aside he can solve this faster than any of the Yard's people."

"Including the French tart on my back step?" Lestrade felt himself prickle at her insulting Serene. He clenches his teeth and exhales slowly through his nose.

"Dr. Laurent is a brilliant-"

"Is that what you get off on now, Greg, brilliance?" He can see Katherine's face beginning to crumple into tears. He steps closer trying to console her, but she shakes him off. "Did you bring her here to show off? Petty sort of revenge."

"I didn't bring her here, Kath, Dimmock called her in. Listen, Serene and I aren't-" Lestrade rubs his jaw frustrated, he doesn't know what they are or how he should be defending himself. "I wouldn't do that, to either of you."

Katherine begins wiping at invisible dirt on the counters; he almost smiles at the sudden recollection. He had forgotten this habit of hers when they argued, cleaning her already spotless house. Katherine looks out the window over the sink, but Lestrade knows she is really staring at her own reflection, the small wrinkles around her eyes and the depth of her laugh lines. She was still beautiful, but she wasn't the blushing eighteen year old he had walked home from the pub.

"She's too young to be brilliant at anything." Trust Katherine to jab a pin into his deepest insecurity. As if he hadn't felt spoilt enough touching Serene's smooth firm skin, feeling ashamed at his own aging body. "I am surprised you can keep up with her, Greg."

Greg opens his mouth to respond, but the chirping of his cell phone interrupted him. He pulled it out as Katherine rolled her eyes. The caller came up as "Private- Blocked" and Lestrade grit his teeth.

"I have to take this." He said as Katherine threw up her arms and stormed from the kitchen. He clicked accept and listened to the hollow silence on the other end, waiting for the crackle he knew was coming. Sure enough, the emptiness was soon taken over by a single static pop and then the voice was speaking to him, smooth and heartless.

"Good evening Inspector, I trust you are well." Lestrade knows better than to answer these calls are always one sided. "My latest intell says you've taken my brother for quite a ride all the way out to-" there is a pause and a shuffling of paper "Chiswick. How cozy for you."

"We agreed when he came back I could use Sherlock as I saw fit." Lestrade has no patience for these check-ins.

"Oh by all means run him as you see fit, he's so - destructive when he's bored. No, I am afraid this call is in regards to you other companion this evening." Lestrade feels his blood run cold, he is sickened by the thought of this man knowing about Serene. "Far be it from me to question your propriety, Inspector, but may I suggest you investigate your connection with this woman."

"I don't know what you're implying but-"

"What I'm implying is that you don't know enough about this woman to be putting her in contact with Sherlock especially with him so recently resurrected. When you do properly inform yourself about Dr. Laurent, for instance her address and who resides there with her, I am sure you will follow the proper course of action."

"The proper course of act-"

"To put it bluntly Inspector get your house in order or I will do it for you."

The connection went dead and Lestrade was left holding his phone looking through the window at Serene and Sherlock in the semi-darkness, a feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach.

 **A/N Sacre Bleu, I apologize to anyone who attempted to read this when it was posted the other day. I don't know how I made the formatting go wonky but rest assured coding is not a part of my narrative. Hopefully you haven't been frightened off. 3**


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N Sorry it's been an age, I've had some lovely feedback in the meantime. I really love it when people take the time to tell me they are enjoying my story. It means the world to me. I don't know about everyone else, but I can't contain my excitement for the Sherlock Christmas Special. It is almost here, everyone should watch River on Netflix to pass the time. It is an excellent series._

 _oooOOoooOOoooOOooo_

"You have been avoiding me, Dr. Watson." The soft voice drifted from behind John as he watched Sherlock pace around the small postage stamp of yard. He barely inclined his head to acknowledge Serene as she stood behind him.

He did not know how he felt about the mysterious French doctor, but her arrival had caused turmoil in what had been a remarkably peaceful stretch for Holmes. He therefore kept his eyes trained forward and his hands in his pockets, he knew his shoulders had taken on a military set and he looked defensive.

"I assume you found the photographs upsetting." Damn psychics, her and Sherlock deserved each other. They'd never have to talk, just communicate by guessing the other's next move.

"You'd think with a wife and a baby I wouldn't have to defend my lack of interest in Sherlock's love life."

He could feel rather than see Serene's smile, she stood peacefully behind him. It was slightly infuriating.

"No, but you do love him. You don't want him to be hurt."

"I just don't have patience for playing games." John would not look at her.

Serene comes to stand beside him, her eyes trained on Sherlock as well. She considers his words silently; when she does speak she does so without looking at him.

"I think we have become part of a much larger game, and we're the only ones who don't know the rules."

"Listen, I know. I know facing death makes you - it changes you, but what you're playing at with Sherlock never ends well. He can out think God and he will never ever let someone else have the last move. So, I know you think you've ended it, but you haven't because it wasn't his turn."

John looked as if he could say another thousand words but he was silenced by the deliberate approach of Sherlock.

"I told you this would be an excellent evening, John. Just when one boring suspect has lined himself so conveniently in our crosshairs another one pops up and undoes it all. Dr. Laurent, is our mutual friend dead yet?"

"Did you find something exonerating Liam?" Serene asked ignoring his question and the wicked twist to his mouth. Sherlock inhales deeply as if pulling all the scent from the night air.

"Foot prints mostly, a man decidedly 6 inches shorter than our executive and walks with a limp. Not to mention the exhumed arm of a woman left at Lestrade's back door. No, this is about our dear detective and where he doesn't spend his nights." Sherlock held Serene's gaze intently, his eyes willing her to see everything he knew. "Do you have any other admirers we should know about or is it safe to assume this is about the bullet Lestrade lodged in his accomplice?"

"You know all my secrets, Mr. Holmes." Serene couldn't deny the energy between them was heated; she felt sympathy for John as he coughed awkwardly between them.

"She wasn't murdered though." Sherlock's eyes snapped back to John from Serene. "The owner of the arm I mean, she- it was suicide."

"We need Lestrade." Sherlock turned his coat whirling behind him as he walked back towards the house.

Serene and John follow behind him, their stilted conversation hanging between them.

Sherlock finds Lestrade in the kitchen staring rather helplessly at his phone, him in every instance, helpless. Sherlock is offended this is who their killer has decided to play with; Lestrade had apparently become desirable in his absence.

"Suicides? Have any particularly complicated ones?" Sherlock stops short of Lestrade, breaking his concentration.

"What?" Lestrade's eyes immediately go to Serene as she enters the kitchen. His eyebrows come together as if asking himself a million other questions.

"Focus, Detective. Suicides?" Lestrade looks back at him, his phone disappearing into his pocket. "I need to know if you have had a case recently, involving suicide, where something was not quite right?"

"Any suicide the Yard is called in on has something off about it, last one I had was over six months ago." Lestrade runs a hand through his hair trying to organize his thoughts. "Woman, 27, ummm found in her ex-boyfriend's flat. Only he wasn't in the country, Ibiza I think. Said she had broken up with him, he was strange about it. As if he expected it. She must have had emotional problems, it WAS a suicide, Sherlock."

"What was her name?"

"Elizabeth, Elizabeth Loewen? What does this have to do with anything?"

"You are being played with Detective, this is meant to be a message for you. The arm, belonged to a suicide, last one you had was a woman. The arm belongs to a woman. Elizabeth Loewen is the best place to start. I will need your files, of course."

"All right, that's where we'll start then. I will send you the files tomorrow. Serene, I will give you a lift home."

"I prefer not to delay once the game has begun."

"Sherlock, it is one in the morning. Go to bed."

"Christ, is it one? Sherlock-" John looks at his watch.

"Go home, John, you have been invaluable. I will take Dr. Laurent home and we will continue the case."

John nods his eyes darting between Sherlock and Lestrade. "Right, then."

Lestrade's eyes are fixed on Sherlock as John backs slowly from the room. "Serene will go home. Just because you are mad, doesn't mean the rest of us have to be."

"Then I will take Dr. Laurent home, after all I know her address." The meaning of Sherlock's words dig beneath Lestrade's skin and he grits his teeth, the Holmes brothers would be the death of him.

"Dr. Laurent will see herself home, thank you very much gentleman for being so concerned with my safety, but as you can see we are hardly on the moon and I should manage the cab ride on my own." Serene smiles sweetly at both of them while buttoning her coat against the cold. She turns and walks from the kitchen, Lestrade and Sherlock level accusatory stares at one another.

Lestrade pulls out his phone and dials a number. He holds it to his ear listening to the rings, his eyes holding Sherlock's silently. A voice picks up on the other end.

"This is DI Lestrade calling, I want copies of all the Elizabeth Loewen files sent to 221B Baker Street tonight. Right, right, no I will sign for it in the morning just do it, now." Lestrade ends the call, and points at Sherlock punctuating his words. "There. I don't know what you want with Serene, but keep her out of this Sherlock. She is a victim of this psychopath and I won't have you going behind my back on this. Got it?"

"We have no evidence he is a psychopath, Detective. As for Dr. Laurent I only want her for her mind, can you say the same?" Sherlock remains eerily calm, it makes Lestrade's blood boil.

"You- you couldn't even begin to understand what I need from her." Lestrade strides determinedly out of the house, hoping for all his pomp and gesturing he hasn't missed Serene.

She is standing on the curb when he walks out, bouncing a little against the cold. Her hand where it holds the phone to her ear is pink. Lestrade comes up behind and takes the phone from her hand. He ends the call before the cab company can pick up. He holds her pink hand in his, feeling it warm against his hand. Serene's eyes narrow at him, her mouth set angrily. He hands her back her phone and she takes her hand back.

"The car's here and it's late. Let me drive you."

Serene tucks her hand into her pockets when she speaks it is in a clear and measured tone. "Greg, I will not be caught in the middle of a tug'o'war with Sherlock."

"I don't know where you live, Serene, I don't know anything about you. Sherlock knows. That-that eats at me."

"Do you really feel like knowing my address is the same as knowing me?"

"No, no of course not, but it just seems so... so easy for him. You two are on this whole other plane and I can't join you there. I can't be like Sherlock, I can't just know everything and- and I can't go outside the law to solve this case. I can't protect you from-"

Serene silences him with a kiss, one moment he is pouring his heart awkwardly out onto his ex wife's front lawn and the next Serene is in his arms, her fists curled around his collar and her mouth pressing into the corner of his mouth. His hands instinctively hold onto her, awkwardly grasping her elbows. His brain shouting loudly that there are still MET officers about. Serene is being subtle, as quickly as she kissed him she is back on her feet once more.

"I can't tell you where I live because you aren't Sherlock, you're a good man and you would feel like you had to- to fix things. That doesn't mean I want you to be him. Take me to your flat, you can keep an eye on me all night long." Serene smiles knowingly at him and he can't help the awkward smile that breaks out over his face.

Sherlock watches through the window as Serene and Lestrade get into his car. He hates the feeling that rolls silently in the pit of his stomach. He refuses to give it any other name than disappointment. Serene was disappointing him. At least he had case files to take his attention once he returned home; he was saved the inconvenience of distraction.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: Sorry to anyone eager for an update, end of term at school has kept me busy and determinedly uncreative. Hopefully this instalment hasn't suffered too much. Only a few more sleeps until the Christmas special, I know I am beyond excited. Thanks for the nice reviews and follows, they are much appreciated._

 _oOoOoOo_

Lestrade opened the door to his flat apprehensively, he could never remember what sort of state he had left it in before work. Seeing nothing immediately biohazardous or embarrassing he stepped to the side allowing Serene to enter. The night had caught up with them during the car ride home; Lestrade felt drained and Serene's eyes had begun to droop as he pulled into his parking spot. Lestrade shucks his coat and throws it on the hook in the hallway, he holds out his hand and Serene passes him hers. He likes the way they look together; it gives him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looks to Serene and she is leaning drowsily against his hall table.

"Come on, let's get you to bed." He takes her by the elbow and steers her through the living room into the small bedroom. The laundry is still on the floor but he had kicked it farther under the bed so it was no longer under foot. He shrugs off his suit jacket and throws it over the door of his wardrobe. Serene is sleepily kicking off her shoes and socks. He leans against the wardrobe watching her as pulls her jeans off, leaving her only in her long oxford shirt. She unwinds the scarf from her neck and drops it on the pile.

"Are you going to sleep like that?" she asks her voice lower with sleep. His stomach clenches at the sound. He laughs to himself, looking down at his slacks and dress shirt. Normally he doesn't sleep in anything, but given his company this feels presumptuous.

He closes the small gap between them and kicks off his shoes. He pulls back the sheets and takes Serene by the shoulders and gently lowers her to the bed. He joins her, still fully clothed; her body curled against him his arm behind her head. Being so close to him seems to rouse Serene, she looks at him her eyes more focused. She leans up and kisses him. He responds fingers of his free hand ghosting slowly down her abdomen. He finds the edge of lace and slips his fingers beneath. Serene gasps against his mouth and he slips his tongue quickly passed her lips. He grips her hand, as her other one knots itself into his dress shirt. Her body begins to lift as he strokes her and he kisses her more firmly pinning her to the mattress.

Serene felt she was melting into Greg; his heavy body holding her down and his dexterous fingers making her breath catch in her throat. She could feel her skin flushing, growing warm against his fully clothed body. They had been interrupted so many times before, she felt like a tightly pulled string and Greg was easily plucking notes from her. He bit her bottom lip and groaned as he felt her tighten. He held her more firmly against him and she couldn't remember the last time sex had felt so intimate. Lestrade pulled back and watched her. She felt her eyes focus on him, questioning why he had stopped kissing her when she felt him begin rocking his fingers inside her. Her eyes rolled back and she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding as she fell over the edge of orgasm. When she found herself able to breath again Greg had released his hold on her. She was tucked by his side his lips pressed reverently to her temple. She turned into him, her hands going to his belt. Her body felt like liquid as she fumbled to return the affection. Greg took her hands and rolled her against him.

"Just go to sleep, you're tired." He murmured into her ear. She could feel the warm drowsy feeling creeping up from her toes. She rolled her hips, pressing her backside into his groin. He felt so hard and good pressed against her. A heavy hand dropped to her hips stilling her purposeful rubbing. "Serene, you're falling asleep"

Serene looked over her shoulder, enjoying the feeling of being so tightly wrapped around each other. "Only because you put the idea in my head."

Lestrade laughed as he began smoothing her hair. She felt so good in his arms. He felt her body still and relax she dropped easily into sleep. He watched her in the darkness of his bedroom. He heard his phone vibrate in the depths of his suit jacket; he sees the light glowing through the pocket. He moves from Serene, keeping his eyes on her as she resettles under the covers. He tries to walk soundlessly across the floor and extract his phone. The screen once again says "Private-Blocked" Lestrade inhales sharply through his teeth. This is not a call he can ignore, but as he looks back to Serene he realizes he may not be able to bear what it has to tell him.

He accepts the call using the empty space and whir of the phone connecting on the other end to sneak into the next room. He hears the click as he reaches his living room window.

"Good evening Detective, I do hope I am not interrupting anything" The older Holmes' voice drops in a melodious octave implying with it all that had just passed between Serene and him had been well documented by her Majesty's secret service.

"No."

"I meant what I said, Lestrade, I won't allow my brother to be in contact with an unknown."

"Dr. Laurent is not an unknown. She is a vetted consultant with the MET, which is more than I can say about Sherlock." Lestrade's statement is met with a moment of echoing silence and he suddenly feels he has played his hand poorly.

"One Hyde Park. Have you heard of it?"

"Posh set of flats."

"To say the least. The one Dr. Laurent resides in is worth approximately 30 million pounds. In case you were wondering Entomology does not pay that well even when one is a vetted consultant for the MET. I trust you will have more questions for the good doctor, perhaps once she wakes up."

"Did you call just to give me Serene's address?"

"It's Serene now, is it? No I called merely to confirm her location this evening. Despite my distrust I would like to spare her some... unpleasantness."

The line went dead and Lestrade was left looking out into the night. This was the second time Mycroft had given him this particular clue about Serene. It was clearly important to him. He felt suddenly more behind than ever before. He couldn't protect Serene from whatever was about to happen, from what was being uncovered with this case. He also couldn't bring himself to regret involving her, not entirely. She was asleep in the next room because of it, he would never have held her or kissed her. He couldn't regret it because he knew she was stronger than this, whatever was coming their way, looking out into the glowing darkness of the city he knew they would unmask it. Nightmares rendered helpless by the light of day.

He left his phone on the windowsill and returned to the bedroom. He stripped down to his underwear and climbed in next to her. She rolled into him, one long lean leg immediately slipping between his, tangling them together. Her long hair was already a mess around her, brushing against his skin. He found he had no comparison for this moment, nothing had ever felt like holding Serene against him, her body warm and soft with sleep. In the back of his head a thought writhed making his grip on her tighter as he fought to keep from giving it a name. Although it whispered to him in Katherine's voice, all this was too good to last.

Sherlock was roused from the blackness of sleep by a firm prod of an umbrella into the soft back of his knee. He jerked awake in the white swirl of sheets he'd crawled into barely an hour before. He turned his head to see Mycroft standing at his bedside.

"There was a woman here." Mycroft's tone drips with disgust. Sherlock buries his head beneath a pillow.

"THE woman was never here."

"Not her, you fool. The one seen leaving your flat at-" Mycroft consults a folder in his hands. "-2:17 this morning."

Sherlock groans into the mattress, his hands clenching the pillow tighter over his head.

"She was a courier, a courier. She brought me some of Lestrade's files."

"And yet you invited her up?" Mycroft barely dodges the pillow hurled haphazardly at him. "Really brother mine, I don't mind you having filthy habits I just want a say in the matter."

Sherlock lets out an irritated howl as he pulls the sheet up over his head.

"She came up, because I never went down. She had specific instructions to hand deliver them to me. She was here less than ten minutes, what do your guard dogs think of me?"

Mycroft punctuates each of his sentences with a firm jab of his umbrella, forcing grunts and swats out of his increasingly tormented brother. "They think that is enough time to bring you drugs. Did she get you high? Was it a danger night, Sherlock? Do I need to find you a new keeper?"

Sherlock sits up, the sheets falling into his lap, exposing his pale torso. "I have my work, Mycroft. I don't need anything besides that."

"Your doctor spent the night at Detective Lestrade's. I will remove her Sherlock, if she is having any sort effect on you."

"She isn't my doctor and I don't care where she spends her nights. If she isn't on the case she is of no use to me. Stop bothering me with meaningless details."

"Do I need to remind you who her benefactor is? Nothing about her is meaningless. And you, brother dear, look exactly like a man who cares."

Mycroft took a final stab, crucifying Sherlock's hand to the mattress. He knew without looking what his brother saw. The small red marks, faded with sleep from where he had been itching at the nicotine patches, the gummy sheen of where they had been before he had ripped them off. Finally, the gum and plastic were under his nails from clawing them from his skin. The ash spread about the apartment as he had smoked constantly from one of his hidden packets. He had been unable to focus last night, the case eluding him at every turn and the mocking silence of his flat. He had thought he worked better alone, but John had given him habits. Now John was gone and he was alone. It no longer suited him as it had. He had talked, paced and shouted at the TV screen until Mrs. Hudson had threatened to put up his rent for noise compensation. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

"If you've finished Mycroft -"

"Where is he, Sherlock?"

"Where is who?" Sherlock began rubbing the red mark on his hand sulkily.

"You know who, I know he is in the country, I know you spoke with him against my express instructions at the flat of Dr. Laurent, what I want to know is where you told him to go."

"Why? Lost audio on your surveillance?"

"You know as well as I do that they have mysteriously gone offline. Judging by what they did pick up you owe Dr. Laurent a new microwave."

"Does her Majesty know how you drain her MOD budget on chasing worn out billionaires?"

"He is a terrorist and a discredit to his country. Sherlock you have been taken in by something much bigger than yourself. For your own good tell me where you've sent him so I can clean up your mess. Again."

"Don't worry, Mycroft. I haven't been playing with your toys. If he's gone it's his own doing. He should be easy enough to find."

Mycroft, the wind taken out of his sails looks around disdainfully. Before parting he smiles sharply and inclines his head.

"I hope next time I see you brother mine you've found it in yourself to clean your room."

With that Mycroft walks from the room, leaving Sherlock to fall back into the abyss of sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N Holy cow has it been a long time since I updated. I am shocked at myself. I have been unbelievably writer's blocked and living in Star Wars Fanfiction. I missed this fandom though. I finally got around to watching the Abominable Bride and I was very pleased. I'd been avoiding it because I was disappointed with Series 3. The magic is back though. Mary was on point, but I wanted more Molly! They showed her masquerading as a man and we didn't get to have ANY fun with it. Thank you to the reviewers and followers I had during my absence. Promise I am not abandoning this fic.**

 **OoOoO**

Sun was already winding its way through Greg's flat when Serene awoke. She could feel their legs tangled together and the heavy weight of his arm holding her to him. It tightened around her as she began to roll her way to the edge of the bed.

"You snore." Greg's voice comes from somewhere above her head. His voice was low and gravelly he was still half asleep.

Serene laughs and rolls back into his chest. She fans her fingers out over and over again feeling the muscles beneath smooth skin. "Did I forget to mention that? How silly of me, I guess we shouldn't have rushed into bed together."

His hand stills hers on his chest, flattening her palm against him. She can feel his heartbeat murmur beneath her fingers and cannot contain the hum of contentment.

"I am the fool letting myself be seduced by a strange woman. You could have robbed me during the night."

"Your toaster's already in my handbag."

"I knew it." Greg swore, shocking her as he rolled her underneath him. She laughed finding herself pinned to the mattress and Lestrade hovering above her. She ran her fingers over his arms, his torso, anywhere she could reach. She let him feel her nails as she brought her hand up over his back and caressed the side of his face. She felt terrible that the itch to leave was running under her skin. She could feel it crawling along her nerves, whispering into her ear that there was a puzzle to be solved.

"I need to go."

Greg hangs his head in defeat, his hair ghosting over Serene's skin as he huffs to himself. She thinks he mutters something about 'bloody workaholics.'

"Don't sulk. You're going to rush off to the office the second I am out of bed."

He rolls off her, groaning. Rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Right then, don't play too nice with Sherlock then."

Serene sits up, running her hands through the mess of her hair.

"I told you jealousy doesn't suit you, Greg."

"Having you rush off to see Sherlock doesn't suit me either."

She twists to face him grinning at his immaturity.

"Would you prefer if we rushed through love making? Would that make you worry less?"

"Are you, my good doctor, suggesting a quickie?"

"Is that what you call it?"

Serene buttons her shirt and sifts through the laundry to find her jeans.

"Normally you take off clothes, not put more on."

Serene kneels fully clothed on the bed, kissing Lestrade's cheek.

"I'll come back tonight. We'll hope for no more emergencies."

Lestrade sits up catching her as she tries to pull away. One hand had sneaks under her shirt and the other catches her neck pulling her down onto him again. Serene catches herself before she collapses onto him, humming contentedly as he punctuated his sentence with kisses along her jaw.

"That would be a bloody miracle."

Instinctively Serene's hand moved from the mattress onto his thigh, running along the thick muscle there. When she reached his hip she squeezed, her thumb stretching to run assuredly over him. Lestrade growls low in his throat and holds her tighter.

"Keep that up Doctor and I won't let you out of this bed."

"You left your handcuffs on your belt." Serene laughs softly in his ear her thumb running from base to tip one more time. At the suggestion Lestrade barks with laughter and lunges to the side of the bed where he left his pants the night before. Seeing her opportunity Serene shoots across the bed over him. She is at the door, shoes in hand, before he can catch her.

"Have a good day, Greg." Serene says before disappearing down the hall.

"Watch your back around Holmes." He shouts after her. He hears a laugh and the click of the door as it shuts behind her. He groans and lays back, the feeling of dread that only comes with blindly trusting Sherlock Holmes settling in his stomach.

Serene got out of the cab and walked confidently up to the door of 221B Baker street. The knocker was askew and the street had the odd empty feeling of people being away about their own business. She had to remind herself again that despite the obvious existence of this mad man in her life, other people were just going about their days. She knocked and Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a woosh.

"Thank goodness, my dear. You look less peaky. Come in, he has had me up half the night pacing. Should I bring up tea? I am sure he hasn't got anything in."

Serene comes into the dimly lit entrance way, she can smell lingering notes of couramin and oak in the hall. Mycroft had been here first thing, beneath that was the stale sour smell of cigarettes smoked several hours ago.

"I don't think we'll be here long. Tell me, Mrs. Hudson, do you have a car?"

"Not myself dear, but Mister Chatterjee will lend me his Golf if I have a lot of shopping. He keeps in around back in a little lean-to. Will you be needing a car?"

"Possibly. Has he been quiet for awhile now?"

"The last hour since his brother left."

"I would love some tea, Mrs. Hudson. If you don't mind, I think it's best we let him sleep."

"Clever girl, I'll bring it up. Just this once, mind."

Serene walks up the stairs to the flat above, thinking about what Mycroft could have wanted. In the back of her mind she had a nagging fear that Graham was in danger, but she couldn't let it worry her. He had means beyond her imagination and involving her in his efforts here would only slow him down. She walks into the usual chaos of Sherlock Holmes' flat; she follows the indistinct trail of ash through the room gathering up the discarded pieces of the Elizabeth Loewen file. She had just set herself down with the pile when Mrs. Hudson knocks with tea. Tutting at the mess she sets it down on a spare square inch of coffee table and bustles from the room. Serene considers what a vaguely charming life Holmes leads.

The shutting of a door echoed in his mind, like it had been closing for hours. When he was finally able to claw himself out of the fog of sleep, his brain argued it must only have happened moments ago that footsteps on the stairs could still be heard. They were Mrs. Hudson's; she was carrying a tray judging by the hesitance of each step. It rattled a little. A tray of empty dishes. She had been before then, the door from hours before falling into place. She had not come in his room, refused to on principle. However if the tray had been for him she would have knocked, or cooed his name through the door. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, exhaling the sleep from his body and inhaling his surroundings. She was here. She'd come to him as he'd hoped she would. She'd disappointed him so thoroughly last night, allowing herself to be pulled away by Lestrade. He'd hated her and ached for her all night. He'd slept naked, always slept naked, but in the early morning he had stripped thinking of her in Lestrade's bed. How they had slept, if they were still asleep now. His disappointment roiling itself into resentment. Now lying there in the late morning, his body wrapped in a sheet and his head hanging of the edge of a bed like a pietà he was consumed with thoughts of her in the other room. He rarely woke up hard; it was not part of the rhythms of his body, driven by cases and pursuits rather than the rising and setting of the sun. Now however he felt himself rise to occasion, so to speak. He laughed soundlessly to himself and considered leaving the room like this. Would it shock her to see him stroll into the parlour naked and hard? He would ignore her, going about his day naked and awake. Remind her she was not the only animal. He sat up and rolled his shoulders, feeling the rewarding stretch of moving muscle. Only the inevitability of Mrs. Hudson stumbling in on his posturing made him reach for his crumpled pajama bottoms. He did not need her blushing or staring to remind Serene he was a sad, strange man alone with his housekeeper.

Before standing he braced his arms on the bed, tightening and coiling his muscles willing blood to flow elsewhere. It was this rumpled and exposed Holmes that stumbled into the living room to find Serene seated on the floor, toast in one hand and a picture of Elizabeth Loewen in the other.

"Try not to get jam on anything."

Serene doesn't look up at him, but trades the photo for a coroner's report.

"Do you want some? Mrs. Hudson's just been by."

"I heard. I never eat on a case. Is there tea?" Sherlock stops stalking behind her and sits down to her right, taking the fresh mug where it has been placed on the last scrap of wood visible beneath the pages. He takes a sip, crinkling his nose.

"Milk."

Serene puts her toast down and knicks the cup from between his palms.

"That one's mine." She drinks after him and he immediately feels the heat traveling downwards as he thinks of her mouth. He inhales deeply to exorcise the thought. "Make your own."

"Don't break into other people's flats." He takes the tea back from her and she lets him keep it. He drinks it and watches her worry her lip as she flips through the coroner's report. No doubt coming against the same impenetrable wall he came to last night. Before he has time to consider the action he reaches out placing his thumb in the groove beneath her full bottom lip. Her eyes darted to him in confusion and he stared at his thumb mesmerized by the feeling of her skin so intimately following the curve of his thumb. He tugged gently and her lip slipped from between her teeth, red from the pressure. He takes his hand back as her tongue darts out to soothe her lip. He coughs awkwardly and returns to his tea, not looking at her.

"I must be thinking." Serene says softly, her tongue darting out a second time before she returns to the document in her hand. Sherlock suddenly feels half mad. He drains the cup letting in clatter when he puts it back on the table. He stands and walks back to his bedroom desperate for more layers between him and the heat coming from her.

When he emerges from the shower, dried and dressed in a suit with his expensive cologne around him like a miasma he feels better equipped to deal with the rumpled woman in the other room. He walks at a confident clip back into the parlour to find Serene seated on the settee, her braid undone running a dark wooden comb through her hair, Mrs. Hudson is perched on the arm, the mug and plate balance on her knee chatting with Serene.

"- No problem at all dear, I remember when I first got married my hair was as long as that. Never quite felt human until I'd gotten a brush through it in the morning. Of course it's not suitable to have hair that long when you get to my age-"

Sherlock was immediately impressed by the domesticity of it all. Mrs. Hudson nattering away, Serene looking up at her with open affection. She must sense him because her eyes dart to him and Mrs. Hudson pauses in her chatter.

"Good Morning Sherlock, it's been awhile since you've slept so late. I've talked to Mr. Chatterjee and he is fine if you take the car, just be careful with it on those back roads."

"A car?" Sherlock looks at Serene, his eyebrows quirked upwards.

"I thought we would look at the summer cottage today."

"Oh a summer cottage, how lovely. A little time a way just the two of you, of course it is starting to turn cold. You'll have to-"

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock silences her.

"Right dear, I'll leave you to it." She stands taking the dishes and the comb with her.

Serene begins re-braiding her hair and Sherlock tries not to watch the way her hair pulls and twists or think of the feel of it running through his fingers. Being alone in a car with her suddenly does not feel so wise.

"I thought the summer house was a ruse, why the sudden interest?"

"I had faith that there would be nothing easily uncovered about the Loewen case. It's the closest thing Graham and Liam have to an ancestral home. If there is some sort of legacy we don't understand then it is as good a place as any to start."

"I see." Sherlock pauses smoothing the front of his suit jacket. "And what about Lestrade? He doesn't want you on the case."

"He knows I am here. He wouldn't give up if I asked him to. Why should I?"

"Would you ask him to? Give up? Leave something be?"

"No."

"Then it is a meaningless comparison. He has said not to involve you, why should I risk my connection with Scotland Yard for this?"

"Because I will go without you."

"I have the map."

"I have the key."

He laughs to himself, pleased with the idea of taking her away to spite Lestrade, keyed up at the thought of new clues. More information to end this case. He walks with purpose to his coat and throws it on, wrapping a scarf around his neck.

"We shouldn't waste anymore time then."


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N This one is a long one. Thank you for the follows and review, they always make me write faster. I guess I am vain that way. Hopefully this chapter was worth the weird google translate searches I had to make. Being Canadian my French is in a constant state of rusty semi-use. However I have never needed to know how to dirty talk before. Normally I do that in English. ;-)_

oOoOoOo

The Golf as it turns out was less roadworthy than Serene had anticipated. It was the sick neon green so popular in 1978 and looked concerning, the packing tape running along the body was serving both a structural and mechanical purpose. Sherlock circled derisively around the car and peaked through the windows at the interior his eyes squinting. He popped up and grinned tightly at Serene over the roof of the car that was dwarfed by his height. Serene giggled imagining him folding his long frame inside.

"Obviously the wife in Doncaster kept the Jag." He opened the door with a snap and closed himself into the driver's side. He looked at the steering wheel in front of him he honked the horn bleakly. Serene shook her head and got into the passenger side and hoped that they would make it there and back in one piece.

The roads of London gave way to larger motorways. The drive was not a short one, but it was straightforward. Sherlock did not speak while he drove; instead he kept his eyes on the far off horizon. No doubt he was running through the seemingly endless series of possibilities the case presented; the disinterred arm, the intimate knowledge of Lestrade's life, the coins, Graham and Liam and the string of dead girls in London. Her phone beeped sadly at her, the battery was dying as she had neglected to charge it last night. She had no means to do so now. She typed a short text to Greg letting him know her phone was dying and when she would be home tonight. He responded quickly, telling her to be careful and reminded her he had found his handcuffs. She could picture his cheeky grin, his quick look from side to side before answering her to make sure the coast was clear. It was the last act of her poor drained cellphone, it blinked off the moment after she opened the message, but she found herself grinning a little stupidly at the black screen.

"You've become a victim of sentiment." There was an undeniable accusation in Sherlock Holmes' voice.

"How so?" She tucked her phone away in her jacket. She did not want to bait him, but they had to pass the time. An argument was as good as any. Once aired it may actually benefit their working together as things unsaid would no longer hamper them.

"Lestrade." His name sounded like a curse coming from Sherlock.

"I thought you were friends." Serene tries to school her face into a naive expression as she glances at him his eyes unmoving from the middle distance. He scoffs. "You should feel happiness for him."

"Friends." He says the word again. Incredulous. "It's a waste of your ability to be with someone like him, when you could be with someone better suited."

"Are you offering yourself Sherlock?" Serene knows this is not what he means, but she pushes him to say what he has not been saying.

"No, of course not"

"So I should be alone?" Serene watches him, her voice matching his incredulity.

"Yes."

"Like you?"

"Why not? I am perfectly logical model to take from." It was Serene's turn to scoff.

"Has it never occurred to you that I don't need to be like anyone? You're not a Pygmalion who has conjured me in your need for emulation. I have always lived this way. I am good at it. I don't need to learn to live with myself." She wondered at Sherlock Holmes' small little world that he thought her mind was new to her, an unknown way of being. She may not know peace very often, but she did know her own mind.

"Why Lestrade? It's impossible someone so extraordinary could be happy with an imbecile."

"Lestrade is not an imbecile." Serene had not anticipated it would be Gregory that Sherlock Holmes objected to, the distraction of a relationship, her own pursuits in academia, these all seemed reasonable objections.

"I have never seen evidence to the contrary."

"It is impossible and yet here we are."

"No, you are here with me. Did he beg you to stay? It is impossible."

"Don't you always say that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"

"You've been reading John's blog. Trying to understand me?" This tone of his was really unattractive, she wondered if anyone ever pointed that out to him.

"No I was trying to understand John."

"And what conclusions have you made?"

"He is your Pygmalion. He has made you a marble copy, you've forgotten how to be the flesh beneath."

"That is not about John." Sherlock looked pleased.

"You weren't really asking about him."

Sherlock sneers at her, still refusing to look at her. He is silenced for a moment, shaking his head imperceptibly. The quiet doesn't last he interjects acerbic and angry.

"Perhaps I should be like you all flesh and sentiment?"

"No, you should be yourself. Not what will make John admire you, or Mary love you or Mycroft stop being the teacher. Live for yourself, not for your marble copy. Or at the very least stop lying to yourself about what you want."

"What I want is often seen in polite society as destructive."

"You feed this image of yourself as the addict reformed. It is more than just the drugs that you deny yourself."

"You think you have an effect on me? Tell me Dr. Laurent am I in mad lust for you?"

"You wouldn't mind."

"If you're trying to seduce me I suggest you either wait until I am not driving or if you prefer I can pull off and you can give it your best shot."

"You began this discussion Sherlock, not me."

They fall silent again. Sherlock with his fingers twitching on the steering wheel and Serene curled into the lumpy cushion of the passenger seat. She was a little stunned he had willingly spoken of the physical attraction between them, even if it was to mock it. It was within the realm of the possible of course, it had happened after all. She felt her mind let go of the thought, a hand releasing a leaf into a current, it swirled away leaving her free to grasp at another thought. She liked to think of her mind like this, instead of chaos it could be a stream running through her constantly. Sometimes calm and deep, sometimes swollen and fast, cluttered with bric-à-brac after a storm. Of course the irony of the mind forming its own opinion of itself was not lost on her. As if it could be somehow separate from her, informing her of the things it thought and felt about itself. This was another leaf to be let go; she needed to look deeper below the surface to the stones and sand that made up the bed.

She closed her eyes, thinking of the cool water of a stream running about her hand as she reached below the glassy surface. The mud was velvety to the touch, silty and luxurious. It gave way instantly to her probing fingers and allowed her to run her hands over little pebbles and shells of memories. She felt something warm against her hand as she prodded the muck; she tugged on it unearthing first a finger, then a whole hand. The skin was fresh and firm, but the wrist just above the muck was slashed and blood was clouding the water quickly. The palm was slender and the nails well manicured, a woman's hand with the shadow of a coin against her palm, a ghost of what would one day be pressed into rotting flesh. Serene could not pull the arm further and free Elizabeth Loewen from her murky grave nor could she shove the hand back down again. It was stuck out stretched, the eddies around it darkening with blood.

She opened her eyes gasping as she remembered she had been in the car with Sherlock. The seatbelt bit into her shoulder as she sat up to fast.

"Interesting." Sherlock Holmes voice seemed far away from her as she blinked and rubbed her shoulder.

"Ce qui est intéressant?" She felt mildly sick from the image of blood filling her stream.

"Cherchez la vérité" He responds smiling at her fondly, their earlier argument forgiven. "I have never seen someone else go into their mind palace before, let alone emerge from it short of breath. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Serene rests against the headrest, her eyes closed again she breathes in through her nose out through her mouth. She tries to articulate what had thrown her from her meditation.

"Elizabeth Loewen. She's a symbol."

"Symbols are a distraction for a weak and lazy mind."

"Or an insane one. Whether they hold any power for us, he thinks he is communicating with us. All of it; the lions, the coins, the hand, all of them meant to tell us something."

"You've read too much of John's blog. The real world doesn't work that way."

"Care to wager?" A cat like grin spreads across Sherlock's face, it's wicked and self satisfied.

"What do you have to wager?" His eyes leave the road momentarily to travel down her rumpled clothes and empty hands.

"What you have been thinking about since we got in this car an hour ago." Serene grins wickedly at him.

"Do you read minds now?"

"I read palms." Serene answered turning her palm upwards demonstratively. Sherlock mimicked the gesture to reveal small red crescents from his fingernails. In response she removes a crumpled cigarette package from her the inside pocket of her jacket. "There are two left. You can have both and torture me the whole drive home if you like."

"Inside the lining of the settee?" He asks smoothing his hand down his trousers as if to wipe away the tell tale signs on his palm. "You can't wager with stolen cigarettes."

"Then I won't." She fishes a cigarette out of the pack and perches it in her lips. She pushes in the cigar lighter in the dash and waits for it to heat up. She reaches to remove it leaning forward with the cigarette dangling from her lips. She can feel Holmes' eyes on her he licks his lips slightly.

"Fine, fine. Share this one and we'll wager with the last one." Serene sits back and pulls the glowing the plug from the dash. The end of the cigarette glows as she touches the coil to the end, pulling the heat and ember into the white paper. She returns the plug to its position and cranks the window open a crack as she exhales a thin lavender tendril.

Sherlock snaps his fingers impatiently at her, reaching for the cigarette as Serene leans away from him. "Don't. Roll it up again. We only have one we have to make it last."

"It's not our car Mr. Holmes you don't want to be rude." She places it in his fingers and he quickly adjusts the grip. Bringing it to his mouth with a slightly desperate tug.

"Rude is what I do." He pulls out the syllables, breathing in the smoke after he's exhaled it. Serene laughs quietly at him, it is low to herself but genuine. He looks over at her. "Something funny?"

"It's like watching a turkey baste itself." Sherlock crinkles his nose at the comparison and takes another long drag the ember quickly eating up the paper. "I thought we are sharing."

"Then you better impress me quickly."

"Hand me your phone."

"Why?"

"Mine's dead and you can't text and drive." He removes the phone from his inside pocket and passes it to her only the pale wrist of the hand with cigarette keeping the car on course. "The coin found in the hand of Elizabeth Loewen belonged to her boyfriend. He's dead now. Overdose."

"Conjecture."

"What was once offered to him is being offered to Detective Inspector Lestrade. It could have been anything left at his back door. A finger would have been enough. Gruesome and easier to transport; or a name written in pig's blood. No they exhumed her, cut off her arm and brought it to Gregory. Why, why give him more clues? Why not hurt Katherine? There are a multitude of options and yet they went for the most melodramatic. Her boyfriend he was weak, he failed them. It could have been Elizabeth's death, could have been anything, but the point is those coins are in limited supply. They've lost control of three already. Unless they've ended up exactly where they want them."

Sherlock is silent for a moment, but he hands her the cigarette in silent acceptance of this theory. She inhales; the cigarette has the sour taste of being near the end.

Lestrade's phone vibrates on the table next to the cold paper cup of coffee. Sergeant Donovan is sitting across from him, reading back the promising calls from the tip line about some case they had dumped him in the middle of, having passed the Coin Killer off to Dimmock. He sees Sherlock has texted him. Donovan pauses as he checks his phone.

BF. WHEREABOUTS? XO

Lestrade's eyebrow quirks landing on the "XO". Had Sherlock just sent him kisses? He looks from side to side to see if someone was playing a trick on him. He coughs and he adjusts in his seat glancing furtively at Donovan. Her eyebrows are quirked and she is staring at him. His phone vibrates again

IT'S SERENE.

"Oh thank the lord." Lestrade mutters under his breath. He holds a finger up to Donovan. "One minute."

"Is it the Freak?" Donovan sucks her teeth, put off at being up interrupted.

"Serene. Apparently." Donovan's countenance immediately improves. She smiles conspiratorially.

"Really now?"

The phone vibrates again.

HURRY GREGORY OR I WILL SEND YOU ALL SORTS OF THINGS ON SHERLOCK'S PHONE. WE KNOW HE WILL READ THEM LATER ;-)

"Most definitely." He begins pulling up records on Elizabeth Loewen's boyfriend.

"There's a rumour in the department that you two have finally- you know."

"People will always talk." Lestrade picks up his cold coffee and takes an unpleasant gulp.

"Is it true?" The phone vibrates between them. Lestrade glances down and nearly chokes.

I WAS THINKING YOU COULD WEAR THE HANDCUFFS TONIGHT

Donovan lunges for the phone, but Lestrade is too quick on the draw. He tucks it in his breast pocket. Donovan smirks again.

"We'd just be happy for you is all. Finally making good on all those stolen glances and flirting."

Lestrade knows his mouth is hanging open and he doesn't know what to say. It is the look that often makes Sherlock call him an imbecile. He can only stare at poor Donovan and think of Serene's face while her body convulsed, her orgasm causing her to tighten hotly around his fingers. After too long a silence Donovan leans back pleased and laughing at him.

"You DID sleep with her. You know Boss if you'd waited six more weeks I would have won the pool."

He knows he is mumbling and probably blushing, but the phone vibrating again in his pocket wakes him from his trance.

"No, no we didn't. I mean literally yes, I made her kip at mine after the whole business with Katherine."

"So she came back to yours after meeting your battleax of an ex wife?"

"Yes, I mean don't call Kath a battleax. She was the victim of a psychopath."

"She must have it bad for you then."

He finally makes his brain talk to his fingers and pulls up the record for Elizabeth Loewen's boyfriend.

"Bloody hell, it's never ending." Lestrade muttered as he pulls out his phone.

I HOPE YOU ARE THIS THOROUGH WHEN I GET BACK.

He shakes his head the woman didn't play fair. He can't respond in kind or even flirt back with her as is would all end up back in Sherlock's pocket.

CURT HAYES. DEAD. OD

Is all he sends back. Almost instantly the phone vibrates back at him.

THANK YOU DETECTIVE. SANS CULOTTES POUR VOUS CE SOIR ;-)

Lestrade adjusts the collar of his dress shirt suddenly feeling warm in his office with Donovan rolling her eyes at him. He may not be a cunning linguist but he understood enough words in that sentence to feel blood flowing distinctly downward.

"Sorry, you were saying."

"What was that?"

"They're on a case."

"'They'? She's with Freak? And you're providing them with information? On a case you're involved in?"

"It's not like that. I haven't given them anything that isn't public record."

"You shouldn't be giving them anything."

"Sergeant are you giving me a lecture on what is or is not ethical for someone in my position?" Lestrade raises his voice slightly. He knows Donovan is right, but an underling won't chasten him. "Now continue with the case you are assigned to."

Donovan has the decency to look away from him, rebuked by his tone. She turns back to her list with a barely audible "of course not sir."

"What are you texting that is taking so long?" Sherlock glances over at her.

"I am merely encouraging him to look faster." Serene grins back at him.

"I need you focused, not panting like a dog in heat." Sherlock reprimands her, his eyes briefly leaving the road to sweep over her pausing at her chest and neck. Her pulse point is flitting and her breaths are shallower. If she glanced at him her pupils would be dilated. He resents that Lestrade is the one eliciting this reaction in her, and that his phone is the conduit for their romance. A small part of him hopes she won't delete the texts. They are nearing their destination and he does not know what to expect beyond a summer home of a wealthy man.

Serene crows in triumph.

"What? Has he answered you?" Sherlock feels the bite in his words. He is frustrated he had not considered such an obvious angle. The short supply of the coins should have been an obvious clue. He always missed something and with his current lack of focus the things he was missing were bigger, more detrimental to the case.

"Curt Hayes is dead of an overdose."

"Don't look so pleased. Someone is dead after all." Sherlock can feel his own smile though, she was right. The truth is useful regardless of its source. "Text Mycroft."

"What?"

"Text my brother, these words exactly; everything on Curtis Hayes. You know why. I'll tell you what they missed."

Serene types out the words.

"Have you got it?"

"Yes."

"Have you sent it?"

"Yes. What does that mean 'I'll tell you what they missed'?"

"Nothing, a meaningless disagreement between my brother and I. It will make him help us though. Remember the case is all that matters."

He turned off the motorway and travelled down the off road, the large lanes of traffic becoming slowly the winding green of country roads. Serene is worrying her lip, he knows his words have made her distrust him and she should. He is gambling with her friend's life.


	24. Chapter 24

_A/N: I don't even want to think about how long it has been since I lasted posted. However I got a really sweet review the other day and it made me go back and re read the is fic. I forgot how much I enjoyed writing this. Full disclosure I haven't watched season 4 yet so I am continuing this as if we are still post-season 3._

It must be warm in his office, Mycroft thought as he listened to his P.A. typing in a steady staccato. He could smell her perfume as it rose off her body, but the citrus top notes made no impression on him, despite knowing they were there, instead he could smell the rounded floral notes that made the body so enticing. In a sick way it always made him think of his mother. The conclusion: body heat not reapplication. True to his name, the Iceman, Mycroft ran cool. He did not notice when his office became stuffy. Opening a window may be misinterpreted though; women, in his limited experience, did not like to know you could smell them.

He walked behind her chair to glance at her screen, considering the message sent by his brother's phone. He was sure Sherlock was very specific about the wording, but a person made so many minute decisions when typing a message that it was obviously not composed by his brother. He wondered if he had had his doctor write the message then, offering Mycroft her 'friend' on a silver platter. How broken his little brother was, he could not predict how these actions would remove the object of his infatuation further and further from his sphere of influence. He was irate at Lestrade for exposing Sherlock to a woman who could so easily upset the delicate balance he had managed to claw back after his last obsession. The only thing saving the DI from Mycroft tightening the leash was that the Doctor had spent the night in his bed and not Sherlock's.

"Sir?" his PA interrupted his train of thought and he glanced down at her for the first time since she set up her small laptop in his office. The back of her shirt hung in a low cowl and Mycroft could see the corded muscles beneath. Her beauty and soft chestnut coloured hair distracted people from the fact she held the fastest neck snap at the academy. He turned his attention to the screen and what had called her attention. An old surveillance photograph of their terrorist; bound and being led by a rope was none other than the good doctor.

"Was there ever an investigation?" He keeps his tone low, an incisor making a small hole in his right cheek to keep at bay the grin he could feel tugging at his mouth. He had her now. Irrefutable proof that Dr. Laurent was not some lucky sublet-er or was naïve as to who was her benefactor. Instead here they were in grainy black and white separated by a scant 6 feet of rope.

His assistant made a small noise, a barely perceivable movement of air through her sinuses but Mycroft knew it was a scoff. He knew even her smallest sound, what the slightest change in breath meant. He knew them as intimately as if she was a finely tuned violin. He considered it necessary, a barometer for every situation. He looked at her computer screen, but he knew what would be on it.

"Just this, sir." she brought the scanned memo into focus, she was trying to catch a glance of him in her periphery without turning her head, but he was firmly behind her. On the screen was exactly what he had anticipated, his own looping hand mocking him 2 years later. The message scrawled on the pad from his desk read simply "Not one of ours, disregard. MH"

He remembered this small exchange; he had kept this photo tucked away in his mind, which is why he had brought his PA here to summon it again. He had hoped that his memory was failing him and that it would have been a different woman. It had been the right call at the time, not to investigate. If the woman had survived then diplomatically speaking it would be hard to gain access to her once she had returned to French soil. If he had known she was in fact Canadian he may have made a different choice, but then the only intel had been 'French-entomologist". If she was dead then all they had done was alert another government that they had a better idea where this international terrorist was, it meant having to play more of a role if he were to use this French woman to harm French International industry.

"Prepare a dossier on Curt Hayes, nothing above security clearance 3. Send it to 221B Baker Street within the hour." Mycroft turns his back on his assistant, moving to the window. He hears her quickly pack up and there is a slight urgency in the click of her heels as she exits the room. It is an unreasonable time limit, but necessary in order to discourage thoroughness. His brother had not been playing by the rules and he had no interest in helping him.

This left the question of how to handle Dr. Laurent. While it wasn't a crime to be kidnapped, the fact she moved to England immediately after and was in fact living off an international terrorist, made it something worth investigation. Taking this woman away from Sherlock now could be a gamble. While he weighed the options in his mind his finger found its way to the mother of pearl button set into his desk. He closed his eyes and pressed it, hearing the immediate empty buzz of an open comm link.

"Call for Dodson, I require his services."

He had no time for sentimentality. He had nursed his idiot brother through worse losses he could do it again. He had a far bigger target in his crosshairs and he would be damned if he would let him get away.


End file.
